Was into everything, that was in fact really nothing.
There has not been anything here.
Worth talking or mentioning.
It’s always been like the open sea.
Vast amount of space, things, and movement.
Just nothing quite as important.
Writing well before the storm
Bringing in all the rain and the wind
The snow and the hail
With the pen and the paper
The emotions on the table
The disturbance of the soul
Causing ruckus and disturbance of the mind
There is much to do in this time
There was much to do yesterday
There will be nothing to do tomorrow
Tomorrow has yet to come
Write away your happiness
and all of your sorrows.
Put it on a sheet of paper and let it be known
that there is joy and there is pain
the two commingling
working together to make life the best and the worst at once
Changing completely the way the world is suppose to look like
Write it all away and place it on the fire
once it is written and burnt there is no more memories
It will all become ashes in the air
moved by the wind