A Wonderful Pair of Silver-blue Eyes

There was once a boy of fourteen,

Standing by the road

Watching leaves chase his feet,

As they ride the April wind.

For a moment, he becomes alone,

Blossom settles onto the ground,

And inside the hood of his favourite coat.

His silver-blue eyes watching the world,

From where he stood.

In the distance, the faint sound of engines

snorting fumes on the main road,

And the seagulls yelling irregular tunes

To the cloudy sky; of which was of a grey melody.

But his smile was warm,

His bright eyes forever shining,

For there was the most beautiful song,

Singing inside his heart.

Sound

Sound

A long unearthly synth,

sends giant waves that pulse,

Shattering the black mirror,

- The dark ghostly void,

- The grey mask,

- The broken frame.

Fragments scatter across the feet,

Piercing the senses,

Revealing hidden truths.

Emotion bursts into the inner-soul,

With colours that can never be seen,

But only be heard.

The rhythm floods the gates,

of the chambers in the heart,

As the mind draws near,

To the essence of sound.

Foresight is one thing, assuming is another.

Things are never what they seem.

Nor can they ever been seen.

Predicting the future is not realism.

Therefore, the fruits that sit above the leaves can be any kind of your choosing.

To live

Lets not grow to be beautiful.

Lets grow to be happy.

Let us colour the wonderful canvas we have been given.

The final picture is yet to come.