Self

What is life, that so endlessly tears,
or death, or birth, when there's no one to hear.
All of our souls, together, yet apart,
everyday strive, to understand the light, and the dark.
Each tragedy, each forgotten, fallen dream,
always calls us back again, to hear our spirit scream.
Yet we do these things to ourselves, never knowing why,
not coming close to realizing, that it's us, that makes us cry.

My Direction

Realization