Good times make, fed men weak While hard times make good men great Wildflowers easy-bloom all around But a flower from a rock, there stories abound A tree standing alone gets right and rain But a giant in the thicket conquered all that he reign A house cat may be pampered and fed But glory to the tiger prey-folk dread Hot steel in the furnace, purpose awake While cold steel simply bend to break Breath is free but bread is not Make fleeting pleasure an afterthought Flavor your bread with the sweat of your brows Make sure you reap what your hard work ploughs Each number you crunch and the lyric you write Makes your own future that much bright Suffering is not a part of life, its life itself You can either survive or start to live To live is to stand, to smile and to start again.
I write for a multitude of reasons. sometimes to escape, sometimes to create and play god. But if the question is why do I write, then I am sorry to say that I have no reason. Or to be exact, I don't know any reason. Sometimes I get pleasure out of it, sometimes it numbs my pain, sometimes the opposite. sometimes nothing at all. I guess this is how I process life. please read through my heart and mind, and leave a comment to let me know how you felt these words.