Silas

As much this world will not know,
What life is to come—?
In the form of turmoil
Or on a winged bird.
A messenger
Or a harbinger to the dead
This will be the sign,
“To be faithful or to be proud,
To the ones that we love.”

Do you know how I feel,
As you walk these halls—
Your delicate hands give rest to your daunting face.
Much like the muses who inspire others
You have inspired me to write,
And laugh when sorrow should ensue.
That only thought I know is of you—
Today and tomorrow will remember
As I walk on days like these
Asking, “Do you know?”
To the willing that I see.

How do you know the ways that this world feels about me, when no one is willing to talk without fear? I am just one who trusts no one, because I have no reason to be truthful. This is my philosophy to which a life is bound and has helped me to keep myself whole. A feeling that inspires me to write and prove what I am to the people I know.

The chances which we take are to no avail,
Hurtful notions scold the small,
And burn the toes of those
Who stand tall among the rest.
But who will help the failures of the willing
That can only love themselves,
Ignoring the individuals who chose to love them,
And are never seen.

To this will the understanding know,
By this pen I shall write
Hoping to hold what can only be told
“A flawed society to which I have loved.”