If Today was your LastLets talk, my love. Talk to me as if we will never speak again. Talk to me as if it was the end, as if you would wake up tomorrow, and i would no longer be by your side. Tell me you love me. Tell me that nothing would be the same without me. Cry on my shoulder, and i will hold you close. And all that is left unsaid, may never be said again but in thought. Because we can not see what will come. I will go off tomorrow, and there is no knowing when i will return. If i will return. Because it is not a peaceful place to which i go. It is a place where every man is a murderer. A place where a man must kill or be killed. I go off to a war zone, and i cant take you with me. So give me this one day. One day of joy. One day with no memory of this pointless war. One day with you. And if i do not return, at least i will take this day with me. And you will remember me as i was on this day. Not many people will remember me, and not all of them for good. But you will, and that is all that matters. S
Who Know What the Future will HoldI see a young man; his name is Unknown. He has a wife and children, and a big house with a library. And two fresh university degrees. He plays with his children and teases them.
Now he is older; he has grey hairs and he talks to a teenager who is his son. He works hard and loves his wife who works too, now that her children have grown up.
Now he is an old man; his hair is grey and his skin is wrinkled. He talks to a young man who is his son. He no longer works, but lives off a pension. His wife is there with him, and he still loves her. He has lived a long life and grown wise with age. He looks back at me and sees a stranger; or an aquaintance from long ago. He doesn't know me; doesn't understand the rash choices I made. But he is proud of me, because he knows that no matter what happened before, he is happy now. And he has lived a good life.
He is dead now. His wife and children mourn at his funeral. He is sad for their pain, but he embraces death, for he had nothing more to give in l
Music is my ReligionMusic is my religion. The Guitar is my prayer. The Drums are my comandment. The Piano is my salvation, the Bass is my sin. And the Microphone is my god. I live Jazz and breath Pop. Techno gives me life and Trance sustains me. The Blues run through my veins, Beroque keeps my body upright. My soul is grunge but my mind is Metal. I wear Rock just like I wear my guitar. As a symbol of my faith.
Music keeps the beat. It turns the world. It adds colour to a lifeless microcosm. Music breeds emotion and encourages creativity. It burrows into the heart and soul and plants a seed. A seed that will one day blossom and spread its fruit. It is an enigma. Unstopable and unfathomable. It lives within all of us and manifests as a spark. It can be learned but not mastered. It can played but not challenged. It can be created but not destroyed. It just is.
A Cold DayA cold day through a window pane. And the breeze is blue. The sky so grey is the only light. A promise that some day the sun will shine again. and the birds will sing.
But now only weeds creep through the frozen earth. And even they shiver. But they like the cold. death is good for them. It feeds them and cares for them.
I also like the cold. It makes me feel like I am not alone. But I hate it. Because it is a lie.
And because it kills. I dont like death. I like spring. I like the colours. Nothing dies in spring.
Spring is glorious. It is red and gold and green. Winter is grey. It is the season of cravens. And I am a craven. I am not glorious. But I have many colours and many shades.