Scrips!
" was there ever in anyone's life span a point free in time, devoid of memory, a night when choice was anymore than the sum of all the choices made before."
and so i read in the news paper of the day a qoute that sparked my thoughts, and yet i type things meaningless, yet i am supposed to creative, and what creativity do i talk about , i have no clue as they say, since as far back i can remember i have been trying to think what i may have achieved if i had been a lil less laxy, that is however not the real question on my mind. the prodigal shall soon return to his own shelter, and i shall still remain imprisoned in my bower, why oh why can't i spread my wings and fly away from this cozy yet thorny prison. my mind awakes to a thousand memories of dreams dead and forgotten, of poems chiselled on the soul yearning to be set free, with short breathes and bursting into a run to reach the end of this walled garden, alas! i reach the very end, i see the very wall that holds me enfolded in its recceses, yet i do not see the exit, the sign is missing and so has the door closed, the portal to freedom has closed so many years ago that i cannot even hope to remember it open.
angels are amongst us. some hidden away from plain sight others burning bright in their own glory. yet when i search for one, i seem not to find them anywhere. the halo around their forheads are not always visible to the eyes, and hence sometimes i miss them, and it is only later that i come to realize that i have been in the presense of one (an angel) only when they have left.
thank you, Angels, for sprinkiling the light to lighten up my days.
i am perhaps simply losing my mind, if there was any to begin with, but hell! who cares, anyway!
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