When the world is at a stand still
And the heart is slowly beating
There is more than words to fill
What humans end up cheating.
With all the noise they make
When they could just relax,
Enjoy what’s real not fake
Like the music of a flute and sax.
Or enjoy the soft breezes of spring
That float through the languid day
Or enjoy the sweet smells flowers bring
With their long lasting fragrance to stay.
Even storms have an eye for calmness
Eventually ceasing their unsettled wild
By producing a gentle fondness
For the unappreciated winds so mild.
let the day calm you down when you can
For the quiet times are so few
And the reality of the noisiness by man
Can’t beat the quiet times so true.
Trying to open the doors
Into another world while staying
Inside its own home.
Subtly creating a realm
Within our own realm
That has a different flare.
What tragedies and joy
Does magical realism
Create with its wonder?
Memories, they come and they go
But they are never permanently gone
For when memories are born they live
Forever inside are hearts and inside our minds.
When people feel down and blue
They can remember a happy time
By looking into their memories
Of times that brought them smiles.
Yellow maybe the color for cowardice
But it’s a color used for remembering
Those who are gone, those who are here
And those that are right by your side.
Do not forget, do not hide, from
The memories that are floating by
Recapture the memories that you have
And keep them inside your heart always.
Morning sun had peeked over the horizon with its hues of golden pink tinting the violet clouds still revealing leftover night. It was early in the day but that is how the two met, sitting on a park bench and watching the sun’s slow inevitable rise.
Percival Flambeau wasn’t sure why he was here. Hated the man next to him and refused to speak first. It was the other man’s idea to come here this early in the morning. Stripping Percival from his usual morning routine just so they could talk about something important or so the other man said.
At least there was no one in the park because Percival didn’t enjoy being in places with too many people. It’s a phobia of his he has had ever since he was a child. The other man consistently tried to break him out of his shell only making it worse. Just the thought of it made him growl in displeasure.
“For God’s sake Zane tell me what is so important already!” Percival shouted, startling crows out of a large oak tree. Good, at least others were having a bad start to the day.
A place where writing and imagination clash together in hopes of creating some literature. It may not always be the best, but it’s something at least! I’m trying to improve my writing skills since I hope to someday publish. Everyone tells me to publish while young and while I understand some of the works I’ve read by young people could obviously use some polishing. I, on the other hand, inspired by a number of writers wish to improve my writing before I even think about publishing.