a time to dance,
a time for death.
a time for laughter,
a time for tears.
it has always been this way.
it is easier to die,
the it is to try and live.
my mission,
has been to write as much as I can,
for as long as I can.
even in this,
it is a wonder that I have been able to do anything at all.
still,
the days pass,
with nothing new in mind.
I will be happy again,
just for a time,
but who can know it?
much to often,
love slowly slips away,
and is filled with more lose.
I am here,
but who can love me,
when I am feeling so misunderstood..
it all ends,
much to soon.