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We are lamps lacking of fire dwelled at dust,
The dark overcome the light as
The cold breeze lanced the lamps
This second, the next
No clue when we will beak apart.
A warm, pleasant, untainted flame that will not barge in
Death seems an easier path
These lamps, however, will not liberate a glance into the dark
We will survive this night
We will survive the next.
We are pieces of paper, floating in the air,
Where the wind blows, there we will go.
We have purpose, goals, lives.
We want great things written upon us.
To be proud of what we are.
Not to hide in shame,
To radiate accomplishments.
But we sit there,
For what seems like and eternity.
We are small but sharp knives waiting to unleash our wrath on someone who makes us explode,
We may be small but we have a knack of snapping back,
The opposite of all evil sides are the good sides,
We can be your helping hand when you feel weak or when you are unable to walk,
We can be your trusted friend that will stand by your no mater what,
Don’t order us around too much or treat us like we’re your servants and we will remain with you,
But when the time comes,
We know when to stop.
We are green paper lanterns,
Illuminating this pathway,
You see our waning glow,
But not us,
We see the whole of you,
We feel your warm presence,
Slowly drawing nearer,
Filling our vision,
With a silver sparkle,
Shadowing us from the past,
And showing us a future.
We are lone stars in a murky night sky
Waiting anxiously for our time to shimmer
Lives fade away, yet indistinct are we in the hours of darkness
Years trundle by till we show a sparkling sign
We shine on those who have gone astray We are washed out street signs at busy intersections
Lost, unseen, ignored in a great gathering of motorists big and small
Straight they go in the directions of their lives
We’re the same yet different
We are the angels of our nightmares
From whom we run and hide
Behind dysphoric eyes
Telling our own stories
Abandoned like empty chairs
Lost but always waiting
We are gloves,
Grasping cheerful thoughts in minds flooded with hatred,
Cushioning them till we can surmount the sorrow
And prevail, we will,
Like pack of dogs, starving for integrity,
Integrity, in a field,
A field that is burned, torn, and spoiled with death and pain.
But calm and modest,
We, the gloves,
We await, amongst the roots that link our friendship,
The roots of amity
We are the point of a sword, sharp and fearless
The grip of a hammer, coarse but unyielding
Raw anger drives us
Not passion, nor love
We need a lulling touch, a calming mind
So that we may aim true and wound the evil inside of us
That will never be still
We are the pale moon—roaming the skies,
Sunlight sifting through branches,
The semblance of tranquility—before thunder strikes,
The churning waters of an ocean
The morning dew on a blade of grass
Mist tearing at a mountain,
The roaring waterfall—ever swirling,
Corrupting chains of though
A giant of hope,
Of fear—of pain,
Of destruction—of anger
We can but follow the path ahead—
Whence it shall take us? None may know.