Happy Days

The sound of humming wind is blessed with the wings of a bird's grace, 

its' soft feathers pulsing through the barriers of the wind in such hace

now peircing through heaven's smoke in which the clouds so gingerly lay.


There is far too many good in this world,

covered by the claws of darkness in which much comes to hide and stay. 


There is even far too many lonely thoughts swimming in the heads of innocents after the words of those that were shared by the ones who lied. 


In my eyes exists purity.


In my heart, however,  exists a feeling of freedom no one but mother nature can offer. 


The dancing of tree branches stopping to no avail, swaying provocatively but in no real shame.

The sky's continous circular spin leaving behind only white spots of a trail,

confusing the shadows and the lingerers of the night who once again came.


An echo of laughter,

and a touch of hope.


The good has awaken,

bringing ideas to the caring and those that are unshaken from the fear of the night that drowns their heads.


I know of hope,

of fleeting faith,

and trembling kidness.


Everyone can be standing where the light once stood but never enough to be counted as one who understood where the light now rests, waiting when the night ends its' conquest.


In these days, when the moon crests and stars fall into a heavy slumber to sleep at best, 

the bad sometimes rest well, leaving thousands to gather from where they fell. 


In these days, they are given the front seat of the world. 

The first to witness such glory of Earth, 

it's skies, 



and nature. 


Everything that stands gifting the living creatures the sight of life, reborn again and again in the sing song of the wind and the chorus of wings against cloud.


There exists only nature alone that can remind us conflicting humans what should always be known. 


Earth is but a spinning orb that holds all life that's come to be.

Perfection only a man-made notion for having control over what's too hard to see. 

Like sun and moon, 

souls must fall into a cycle changing in between both dreams and nightmares. 

It is an individual's choice to decide what side to linger on and mark as their home.

No night is the same and no day is alike.





Every character, and every goodness is reflected through beings a person has felt some likeness. 



When walking down the street and you catch a old man being helped to walk the crosswalk,

or even witness a honest act of charity to a homeless on the street with $20 in their hands,

notice it is not just the goodness you see but the true character themself. 


Kindess trembles, and darkness may never seem to falter, but what is also true is even the weak can grow stronger.