All alone
By Charles Marks
Sitting all alone, Thinking of you
Praying and hoping you get better
Wishing I could be there too help u feel better
Thinking of you all day and night
Wishing i was there too help u feel Better
But You were Unsure about that
What can I do too show your Parents I am Not a bad guy
That I am only a guy with huge heart looking after you
You Know that
So what can we do too show that too them
I’m running out of Ideals
I hate seeing you being ill
It's not fun, Plus I can't see you
So get better Hun
Love ya your Hun Charles
green trees near body of water during daytime
https://images.unsplash.com/photo-1603339654871-5d6b010c64b6?fm=jpg&fit=crop&w=600&q=80&fit=max
The last note still ringing in his ears, the night’s events still swirling around in his head, he walks out of the door into the warm evening air. The entire atmosphere is one of joyous sadness. Emotions course through the air, giving it some sort of charge. The next morning shall be the last exchange of the drink of the fruit of passion, and yet the solemn first for him. Later tomorrow he knows, they all know, that they must part ways. They must all leave their oasis of comfort and security to dive again into the vast sea of reality, of conformity. Yet still they cherish it, hold on to it. Even in the last moments of such a magical night, they open their minds, their hearts, open their souls to each other and learn to love that which is there in what others have exposed. The chants of “…MORE, MORE, MORE, MORE” truly resound in not only everyone’s thoughts but in their utmost desires.
Late that night, lying in that same old bed for the last time, gazing up at the concrete ceiling. Finally, his thoughts allowed to sit and slowly filter out. Shock, insubordinate yet knowingly unjust anger. A few muttered words from the other side of the room, a brief agreement of opinions. Then silence. The hazy recollection of events over the past three weeks, the bittersweet insanity which so marked each and every day. The mistakes made, the friendships formed, the battles lost and won. And as all of this starts to settle down into a gentle murmur, he drifts off into sleep.
The next morning, torn from the warm embrace of his frail sheets, down to the circle, sips from the glass, toasts to a fallen comrade. Soon enough the group all progressed to go through their daily routines one final time. They returned to what they knew was the inevitable.
They were there, it was time to be rounded up and brought back to their respective lives. Tears were shed, last goodbyes, every single one of them joined as one united being, as one entity separate from their single selves. Each and every one of them will never leave the spot they were when they knew it was time they had to leave. Those who knew they could never return let fall the rains of their misery. Their true love for something so intangible yet so true and so real ripped apart their true selves and lovingly joined their true selves back together in an instant.
But, as inevitabilities go, by midday it was empty and silent. Once could almost feel on the air all that had occurred there so few hours ago. That evening, He finally lay in bed before sleep. All were dispersed from that place they cherished so dear, back in the true world but thinking of naught but what they had left behind.
And all at once, without warning, from places near and far came the sound of 300 voices: “This will be the day that I die…”
So, you need to understand that, it is part of life and you need to move on. Otherwise, one day you will wake up in life asking your ownself - How do I got here?
sing a song of sixpence
a bottle full of rye
four and twenty blackbirds
baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened
the birds began to sing;
Who put that pastry on,
we could'nt see a thing!
The King was in the
counting house
Counting out
his money;
The Queen was
in the parlour,
Looking at him
kind of funny!
The maid was in the garden
hanging out the clothes;
where the king spends his cash,
she's the one who knows!
ali-p 2003
Mmmm - I feel good….
With a ‘Breath of fresh Ayr’
To start your day,
And 'Honest Men'
Along the way,
'Bonnie Lasses'
To help you stay,
Aye, Ayr’s the place,
To be today…
© ali-p 2003
One of the things I’ve learned is that you can never get away with anything untrue, ever. The chicken always comes home to roost. You can never get away with a falsehood. And, you can never get away with weak thinking, any more than you can get away with improper action.
If you tell the truth, then you have reality on your side. And therefore, I’m very careful with what I say, and I’m very careful with I write.
, genre: cityscape, style: Impressionism, tags: summer, streets-and-squares, houses-and-buildings, Tree, Nature, Woody plant, Plant, Grass family, sunlight, Birch, completition: 1902.
https://uploads2.wikiart.org/images/childe-hassam/summer-at-cos-cob.jpg
Hey diddle diddle,
the Cats on the fiddle,
that Cow must be wired to the moon.
The little Dog barfed,
as we all had fun
and the Dish got clubbed with a Spoon...
ali-p 2003
What if tomorrow never comes will we miss what we did yesterday how bout what we did last . if tomorrow never comes will we forget the things we did in the past , will we forget the ones we love . if tomorrow never comes what will happen with to day will our memories fade away out of those who we care so much about .
what will happen with the world as we know it should it crumble and fall beneath us if tomorrow never comes . Shall all we fought so hard to protect die without us if tomorrow never comes.will we still be happy when were dead will we still be around in some way shape or form if tomorrow never comes...........
Learn more: https://t.co/A0tQDnj0Vj https://t.co/QJajutyb3h
Being pedantic in nature, I vividly remember those rare, unprecedented instances when this attribute empowered me to discern a meaningful pattern in plain sight, which others might glean over as being banal. All of this, fueled by keen observations, made chillingly close to the bones.
, genre: portrait, style: Metaphysical art, Classical Realism.
https://uploads7.wikiart.org/00319/images/antonio-bueno/antonio-bueno-1918-1985-catherine-la-rose-8.jpg
Free to leave the office to enjoy dinner with my family before tucking my kids into bed…
Free to pursue my definition of success…
This also always helps me to weigh opportunities properly. Does this give me more autonomy or less?
Screw whether it’s fancy.
Screw whether it’s what everyone else is doing, whether it gets me a few more followers or a couple extra dollars. What matters is freedom.
Because without freedom, what good is success? As Seneca said, “Most powerful is he who has himself in his own power.”
