Someone once told me, that sometimes, when we can't get the words flowing, it's probably because we are too busy living life.

I don't know how true that is. At some point, that may be the case. That, or just pure laziness.

I'd like to think that the writing bug is just dormant at the moment. 

I just hope that it isn't dead. 

pry open my heart
as it slowly comes apart
words no longer hide

to dance its story
bask in all its mystery
cherished history

pry open my heart
trapped memories shall depart
here's to a fresh start

If the world was perfect, Dreams would be lost.

If the world was perfect, Possibilities would end.

If the world was perfect, there would be no room for Growth.

If the world was perfect, Opportunities would not have rolled.

If the world was perfect, Curiosity would be killed.

If the world was perfect, Creativity would not have flowed.

If the world was perfect, it would be still. 

 

Be thankful that the world is imperfect, 

And that we are all perfectly imperfect.. 

Isn’t that a Perfect arrangement?

This piece was written a few years back, well, almost half a decade ago actually. I wonder what happened to that particular Muse. I suppose, nothing in life is static and we are constantly changing.

Maybe all we need to do is embrace each moment, but let it flow.

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Peace, revisited. 

The night has turned into a stage. Complete with a backdrop of bright, shining stars and the silhouette of palm trees swaying gently. Nevertheless, the orchestra of rustling leaves, singing crickets and the occassional baritone croak of the frogs are amiss. All I can hear is the constant hum of silence.

In this empty space, Intuition is sitting with Thoughts and Emotions. Each with its own little monologues, neither talking nor listening to one another. Each acknowledging the other's presence, yet each, is lost in its own soliloquy. It seems chaotic on the surface, but Peace is twirling around blissfully; dancing to her own beat without a care in the world. Words swirls around trying to mimic Peace's movements, filling the thin air with a certain warmth. But Words is a little bit lost.

This is a rare moment where everything and nothing make sense. A time to sit back and be enveloped by the beauty of The Present. A dream-like moment where the concious and sub-concious merge, creating strange, mysterious, beautiful patterns. Surreal yet true. Abstract, yet defined.