Thunder furiously rumbled across the dark night sky. Pensive, brooding, sulking. Just like the moody Evelynne Yvonne Marie. Twirling coils of smoke left the cigar between her fingers, as she stared at the twisting, raging tongues of fire caged in her lighter, begging for release.
How did she end up here? She wasn’t quite sure. But as she stood, sagging her fatigued figure over the rooftop railing, all she could do was gaze at the millions of miniature lights dimly lighting the city below. “Strange, how the World is so bright even in the darkest of times…” she mused out loud, to no one in particular except the biting cold thrown around by the violent winds. She seemed to sway dangerously towards whichever side this tempest took her, as the only parts of herself fixed to anything at all were her eyes, still staring ahead.
In the far distance, a loud crack of thunder carried itself across the city sky, bringing with it the harsh, steady sound of rain hitting all, be it building, pedestrian, or pavement. Even so, the lights shined as bright as ever, never once dimming.
Are you a burnt little matchstick? Struck against scraping sandpaper Till you shine bright enough to be a star, But the joy of being enough is robbed by the end, without going far.
Burnt, crippled, broken, and used, Now showing no more potential nor promise, You are thrown away by the world, Tossed in a pile without a thought, The light you brought, they forgot, So they have simply left you to rot.
I suppose there was truth when Calpurnia said: "The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes."
For as I stare out my window, Glancing at heaven above and ground below, I see white lilies mourn the loss of a kind soul from this world, And the mighty heavens themselves stand in shame at their helplessness.
On this day A great and kindly spirit was robbed from this Earth, Far too early, sooner than one would anticipate,
And simply... That.
That spirit has left this Earth, and left us mortals in its wake As fleeting as the picture captured With these gifts called memories.
Sweet lilium, Thy ghostly pallor paired with thine emerald stem, Reaching for golden sunlight to bask thy head, Symbol of rebirth, and of death.
At the feet of the Madonna thou art placed, Purity of the soul returned to Heaven’s embrace, Flush with life, forever in graceful sway, Sweet lilium, now in decay.
The delicate peace promised to us by the leaders of the world hangs on a balance that tilts steadily towards the rough, violent arms of war. The modern day and age, the one that promised this peace and progress, has seemingly forgotten the many suffering souls around the world, still oppressed, still denied their basic human rights. It is our duty, as citizens of our respective countries, and as individuals living in this world, to brighten this world for all those in it, to leave it a better place than when we entered it, and above all, to seek justice and recompense for those wronged by the powerful voices of this world.
Though I can't promise that the water will always be fine In this tumultuous sea, I will be your net, Your safety boat, Your clamouring hand That reaches the shore, That life-guard's vest With a red whistle to blow A calm embrace, A caress to the face, But while this siren says... Your drowning I cannot replace.
The moon calls the pristine sea-water, Which in turn, reaches to the sky to answer. The wind sings of this sultry exchange, While the poor rocks, Constantly thrashed by the falling tides, Can only silently sigh.
Luminousis 