Jan 1997~ Angel's whispers

Angels whispers kiss the sky, and a burst of pastels make the sky alive. Butterflies swarming through the masses, dreaming of an existence with no limitations, free, free as a bird, to soar upon the hopes of a new day, or a new dream, to take away the demons and bad things, and let fantasies take control, and dream, no limits to who I am, but if there are then they are set by me. What is cool? What is real? The existence of our meaningless lives, is that cool? What does it all mean? The thoughts, dreams, hopes.....what is it all really, but...life? Is there any other word to describe such perfect beauty mixed with your worst fears and nightmares, coming true in a slew of uneventful patterns in your life, until nothing and everything makes sense. Laughter mixed with heartfelt cries, and the joy that will no longer be able to be lived on. But happiness, what exactly is it? What is happiness? One person's happiness, a pure heaven full of delight, can be anothers hell, living in damnation and fright. Scared to be, yet they are all. Scared to see, yet it is everything that must be seen. Colors, in whirls of dainty whispers, snow flakes drop with no sound, twirling in the light of the moon, a stars rays are all that shines through, a palace of snowflakes, kissing everything, making the streets, trees, mountains, all perfect with a sense of wholeness and purity, and silent dreams. What are dreams really? Are they not just heartbreaks? To wish and hope for something, and then not recieve it could be the most earth wrenching fear, a heartbreak, too dear and true. What is it in life that you want? Popularity? Power? Intelligence? or just the perfect mask, to be able to fool everyone into believing I am this perfectly content being, as cool and wonderful as can be. But I, behind the mask, ams really a child cowering in the dark shadows of life, alone, scared, confused. But to be able to put on the show, to make people think that I have it all together,all worked out, fixed, wonderful. But nothing is ever just truly wonderful is it? Nothing can ever be just beautiful and perfect. Without nightmares what would dreams mean to us? Without pain and loss, what would the joy actually mean to us? A balance. A balance between everything in nature, in light, in shadows. A perfect balance to send out mass confusion into our chaotic existence. And we call this living?! But ain't it grand? What would the world be like, if nothing evil or bad could happen? Not even a dream world could express that idea, for even in dreams come nightmares. The monster under the bed, the devil in the closet, lurking behind every sweet dream. And we know they are there, yet so far but too near. It frightens us, but keeps us going all the same. We know we can never be truly happy, but we try anyways. We try to put our world into perfect peace and harmony, to just be happy, but the evil, lurking, keeps us on our toes. It makes us realize what we have to be thankful for, and in constant fear that all your dreams could be taken from you without warning, nor any apologies. And then what? There is nothing left, nothing byt broken dreams to pick up. And then what? DO you build a new dream? A New hope? a new future? So it can all be taken away as well? Or else, what? an existence of nothingness and drab humane exile is all that fills your days as you patiently wait to die. And then what? What happens when you die? Do you get that broken dream back? Are all your hopes, dreams, happiness,is it all just handed back to you, to never be taken away again? So what happens if there are no hopes, no dreams, no happiness? No true meaning of the sense anyway. Then what? When you die, you get all of that back, all of the same ordinary life back that may have killed you in the first place, and it will be your eternity? A hell. A heaven or hell, and who's to tell but only you? It's not a universal state of being, it has only to do with your life. Your heaven, your hell. EVerything in life as well as death is what you make of it. Something meaningless to one person, may be the most eventful thing in anothers life. It's all what you make of it. SO what is your life?