Sunchild-sama

It was time for the end of the world. Not the world, but my end. I would be like a god when I was gone. Not worshiped, but important. All sins will suddenly vanish along with my fleeting life. Net really vanished, but forgotten. Why does everything alter? Kind words in exchange for death.

There's trash in my backyard, And dead animal bones. Remnants of the past, And Bruno's supper. Different than years ago. When wild plants waved in the summer wind. From what it once was, The land was transformed into disorder. Cluttered and crowded. Can't remember what was here, Wish I did at times. If only the earth could talk. The earth teaching us of the past.

How is it that we remember those days? Those days were too long ago. Through many inspirational poems? In essays of deeply dug research? Or in the flowing art of someone's hand? Maybe in the little red flower of remembrance? They are only thoughts of today. Can imagination truly count for what was seen? That fight did stop. Now we still listen to the words of the past. The words only put pictures in our heads,     but the pictures aren't the actual memory. It should be kept this way. Words of the memories will help keep it that way. Let the pictures of war remain pictures,     and the old memories our only reminder.

Reality, Limiter of many things that will never be. Life, A gift held only once. Pain, Felt within and out. Birth, A beginning that will one day end. Time, Each second holding immense power. Imagination, My window away from this reality.