[Funkduder]

*Gets up. Waits. Writes Poetry.*

How many voices fill the harmony,
The Melody.
The Light, life unbecoming,
but becoming significant because
We see each memory, each moment, each "thing"
but we we say thing to recognize what cannot,
Our memory dies from lies, false hopes, goodbyes, renditions, omissions because
Who are we, what are we, and why are we what we have become.
A bundle of fondling, tinkering with power beyond conceived control...
Hide and Seek.
Blood red tears and mystique.
Hide And Seek.
Is it bad to be weak?
Or rather is it good to be strong?
Do we always have to fight?
Must we have vengeance?
Or is it or wrath?
The ultimate wrath in existence.
By doing nothing, by stopping, pausing, filling time to the brim with empty airs until they die, alone.
Living...alone. With nothing....Alone.
Hide And Seek
Blood red Tears and Mystique
Hide And Seek,
Oh ruler of the Meek.