Woke from my sleep,
in mid of night,
stating,
"to much time has passed"
glibly spoken in a monotone low,
I got up and thus it's spoke.
The factions of life is reality,
sleeping means to read,
a restful or a piece by piece deliverance,
the understanding of what's to be.
The most to busy,
places call their fine,
never stopping to consider,
the friend that you have yet to meet,
would be the one true kind.
Others hold the difference,
paved with pain or greed,
should People keep the passing,
than permanence is spree.
To chapter for the dire,
our numbers build to structure,
on less to know the bitter,
but rather shone considered.
The hands it took to beat us,
manipulate and kill,
the mass of the populous,
encouraged silence still.
As seen in Life of mine,
offers have been lines,
to halt the mad attacks,
the endless on the rack.
Attention to the Know,
the hold is with our Lives,
the shoulders that are out there,
shrug to state the dies.
Although at sum point,
you know a person asked,
how can I help to make this,
better than the past.
Sometimes the outreached effort,
to speak and not to dash,
rewards the persons stature,
with more than just a blast.
We all do walk these funny binds,
the singular in view,
bringing more than One or Two,
increases adding few.
Whether the recognition is simple,
or began in the complex,
the puzzle of the riddle,
is the Picture that showed the Cast.
To garbage work with concrete,
makes the sidewalks craft,
the underneath is hidden,
while the top remains in flat.
Crossing talks of busy,
the Cell phone does exact,
looking at the labeled,
while missing eyes to chat.
Save a conversation,
one day it pays to be,
the cuddling of tomorrow,
it's a chilling sight to see.
I hug my invitation,
to be more than I am,
improving with the written,
enhancing pen of can.
Not 'if' these Times are passing,
at rates of harried dimes,
reality keeps me asking,
the Moon and Sun to shine.
The aspect of a given nature,
is to question with a paper,
where on this Earth are Letters sent,
to receive a chance for....