I wake up and walk down the stairs when I hear glass breaking. I walk slowly, quietly, and very timidly. Like I was testing ice to see if it would hold without breaking or cracking. Even the smallest crack, I realize, will spread. Mom and dad are fighting....again. Brother's crying....and I stop half way down the stairs. Why? Because I notice something in my father's hand...and it freezes me in place....his knife's out...i stare, wide-eyed. He walks into the kitchen and I hear a scream, which ends abruptly. I slowly creep into the kitchen and peek around the corner. I stare, horrified and hoping my eyes were lying 2 me. It was these hopes that made me rub my eyes 2 clear them. Yet the image still remained. My mother....lying in a pool of her own blood....i run away. Up the stairs as fast as I can, into my room. I run out onto the balcony and down the old, rusty, metal steps and into the forest as the sun slowly creeps into it. I didn't stop running until I was at the river 2 miles away. The sun was hiding behind the trees and poring blood across the sky....light the crimson of blood over the blackness of the sky...all I could c was mother's blood....and I black out, feeling little more then a pinch in my back.
chasing butterflys,
playing with a stick,
catching a leaf,
batting at shadows...
these are in our dreams.
if dogs bark,
then what's on a tree?
in leaf-bare,
are trees cold?
things we question.
watching birds,
look at squirells.
playing with shadows and moss.
things we enjoy.
so, as you can see...
the biggest difference between
a kit and a warrior is this.
kits can enjoy simple things.
little, tiny things,
so easilly overlooked by most,
kits can see them and love them,
even though they are compleatly meaningless.
but, the problem is,
and we all wonder this...
when i grow up,
when i'm a warrior,
who will i be?
still me?
of all the things i'm suppose to be,
do i have the time,
to just be me?
the thoughts and dreams,
and the chasing sun beams,
will i still have that?
when i'm older?
will i still have the time?
the time for fun?
or will that time,
be done?
playing with a stick,
catching a leaf,
batting at shadows...
these are in our dreams.
if dogs bark,
then what's on a tree?
in leaf-bare,
are trees cold?
things we question.
watching birds,
look at squirells.
playing with shadows and moss.
things we enjoy.
so, as you can see...
the biggest difference between
a kit and a warrior is this.
kits can enjoy simple things.
little, tiny things,
so easilly overlooked by most,
kits can see them and love them,
even though they are compleatly meaningless.
but, the problem is,
and we all wonder this...
when i grow up,
when i'm a warrior,
who will i be?
still me?
of all the things i'm suppose to be,
do i have the time,
to just be me?
the thoughts and dreams,
and the chasing sun beams,
will i still have that?
when i'm older?
will i still have the time?
the time for fun?
or will that time,
be done?