Humor likes to disappear. The chimes are merely visible as the noise turns you deaf. The playfulness of life turns its back on you so swiftly that you are looking at your second life. The after life is no more scary and living demons simply stare at you, lifelessly. The void within surfaces like a peak that is impossible to climb. You gasp and then realize there is no need to for the vacuum has inhaled you. It is then that you know that the child that wanted to play has died.
You are too tired to ask for second chances. There is not much to ask from the shop anyways. In the supermarket of modern dreams, promises are on sale, if you can find the counter that is.The pace that is meant for all just slows you down, and then makes you low, so low, that all that pace becomes the worst drug. It is then you know that the child that wanted to play has died.
And it is then that you know love. The love which we grapple to define. The one which is master of all illusions yet bigger than any truth we can fathom. It has the kindness which can overpower the heat and leave the fire with only the light, brighter than ever.It is then that you know that the child that wanted to play child has died.
You are too tired to ask for second chances. There is not much to ask from the shop anyways. In the supermarket of modern dreams, promises are on sale, if you can find the counter that is.The pace that is meant for all just slows you down, and then makes you low, so low, that all that pace becomes the worst drug. It is then you know that the child that wanted to play has died.
And it is then that you know love. The love which we grapple to define. The one which is master of all illusions yet bigger than any truth we can fathom. It has the kindness which can overpower the heat and leave the fire with only the light, brighter than ever.It is then that you know that the child that wanted to play child has died.
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