| November 2018 |
Signs of Life
It was the afternoon of Sabbath
In a four-cornered room,
Signs of life were singing
So blessings will come soon.
But one flower stood lifeless,
For no music can make it bloom.
Until a dazzling sound of piano
Started playing a tune.
The piano's played by a man
Whose heart is like no other.
And so the rhythm of the instrument
Is as wonderful as its owner.
The musician kept on playing
Until the piano learns to sing
And the man knew the piano well
And the joy that it could bring.
Songs of grace were to be heard
Coming from this instrument
But still the flower remained lifeless,
Almost ready to lose its scent.
The piano kept on playing
For days and months and years,
Quite unsure of what's beyond
That sometimes it sings with tears.
The flower itself knew
That its petals would start to wither,
Like the roots from beneath
Die from the thirst of water
Roots cannot be seen
For in the deeeper ground it is hidden.
But the voice of the piano
Has lessen the flower's burden
The music of the piano
Made the flower wants to live.
It told about the musician
And everything He could give.
But the flower is too afraid
For it is not ready to forgive.
Forgive the other signs of life
For the burden that made her grieve.
Still the instrument kept on singing,
Trusting the musician's plan.
And this time, the flower was willing
To have a little light from the sun.
It knew what it needed:
Some daylight and some water,
And the piano showed the life-giving well
That its Master wants to offer.
The flower is still afraid
But it drank the water with trust,
And the piano patiently waited
Until the day has come at last.
The flower begins to sway
As the piano starts to play.
And as they grow together,
Tears were sent away.
Now the piano sings,
And the flower dance.
Finally, another signs of life
Have given love a chance.
| End |
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Yeah, I’m alive and re-writing my stuff.
Story of Us REWRITE
Darcy took in the two grown men that were sitting on her couch. One blonde, one brunette. Both hung their headds in shame, shoulders hunched forward and gazes pinned to the floor, unable to look her in the eye.
“Seriously,” she ranted, pacing back in forth. “You’re meant to be super soldiers, not stupid soldiers!”
Steve raised his sad puppy dog blues eyes at her. “We’re sorry, Darcy we thought that we’d be doing you a favour…”
Darcy pinched the bridge of her nose. “Steve. Riddle me this, in what universe do you consider throwing my date across the room to be helping me out?”
“He was touching you!” Bucky protested. “He had his hands all over you and–” he stopped speaking as he finally noticed that he was only digging a deeper hole.
Darcy’s icy glare zeroed in on Bucky. “Right, but that’s my problem to deal with. Not yours! Because stalking me when I am out on a date is fucking creepy and just not cool, dudes!”
“Yeah,” Johnny yelled from behind the kitchen counter, ice pack over his black eye. “Not cool to be following a lady around.”
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I can still vividly remember the day we started talking. That feeling of instant connection and that “click.” We were excited. Our replies were immediate, long and full of enthusiasm. The conversation just flowed naturally. It’s like as if we have known each other for a long time. Before we knew it, weeks of amazing conversations passed by. But suddenly, it went from there to nothing.
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