the red rose.

the red rose trembles in the face of danger.

the red rose understands when the gardner is gone.

the red rose bubbles with joy at the sight of forgiveness.

the red rose aches to know the square root of everything.

But wait, who is the red rose?

home.

As the sun's rays shine down and melt the fallen gum onto the asphalt, i sit back and take in a breath of the crisp fall air.

There is something about home that makes me wonder why all the other things are the way they are.

The incandescent feeling of how the same faces still act in a similar manner.

Well, the drain is clogged with sludge and the repair guy cant come 'till the morning.

What will we do now?

"We can melt wax over the slain queen?"

But the mysteries of the attic still remain.

Home is like that old breakfast restaurant. No matter how long you are gone, everything is the exact same, like time had been frozen in a bottle.

Where the rings on the tree aren't as important as the leaves in the forest.

Often the rim of darkness creeps in and illuminates the thoughts in order to fulfill the needs of the populous.

"Black out in white night in Rome" leads the anthem of rebellion in the streets.

Home is the place where no explanations are needed.

Right is right and left is left.

The people march in order and always stop at red lights,

Drama is just a genre of movie,

and nothing is better than the smell of the square.

Dont stop believing in angles, and marching to the beat of the proverbial drum

Fallen Angels

Its started to get to me how people are acting. Doing the same things every day, falling into the same routines. Complaining about the same problems, but never actually acting on them. Since when is having fun and enjoying life a problem? If homework is overwhelming and sleep is something that seldom happens, complaining about it every day, and continuing to procrastonate doesn't do anything. Going about life the same way is fine, if you are content. But dont be upset with things and continue to act the same way. If someone is doing something they like to do, then let them do it, who cares what it is. Heres a small poem. think about the true meaning of things, and act like the person you truely want to be

With the collapse of the empire, wind brushes back and sweeps away the fallen angels.

The cracks in between the sidewalks continue to expand,

weeds fill in

days pass

and green just doesn't seem to be green anymore.

The smells of summer and the bliss of happiness resonate from the crashing waves.

Children are attracted to all that is fancy and new

Often forgetting about the past

the history;

What got them there, and what will be there when the batteries die.

On the other side of the fence, Mr Johnson calls the boys in for supper

Cold soup again?

I can only imagine...