Life,

Is hard.

Many things, ...

Silently and graciously,

They live,

Until for a cause, ...

As the years,

Have gradually passed,

And I rewind the past, ...

Some days,

I neglect to care.

It’s not a willing act, ...

Removed.

On the periphery,

Of today’s modern world. ...

Perhaps thoughts,

Are water like.

It takes years, ...

I used to climb,

Thinking it’s growth.

Until I learned, ...

Days,

That seem upside down,

Are no longer bothersome. ...

No matter how tightly packed,

Or thick the concrete,

Hearts often find ways, ...

When distracted,

I gaze into the eyes.

For it is there, ...

I often looked,

To discover the real who,

Hidden behind closed doors. ...

Today,

I’d rather float beneath,

Unheard and unseen, ...

Perhaps,

Despite the haziness,

I do know the way. ...

Looking up to climb,

Or standing below gazing,

From where I arrived. ...

Watching a river,

Soothes my soul.

The sound, ...

Sometimes I try,

In vain to understand,

What the artist feels, ...

On days,

When I’m wound up,

I habitually wait, ...

I like looking at images,

From the past.

It’s when the child, ...

I need to learn,

From those silently,

Growing trees. ...

When things,

Appear out of place,

My mind struggles, ...