music-art-skillZ

Three men were sitting on a bus bench, waiting. One was fresh out of high school, young and energetic, another was middle aged and growing older, and the last was already elderly and was slowly withering away.  The old man was rather talkative and spoke of how fulfilling his life was and all the enjoyments of having a family and working for a living. In fact, he had both the young and middle aged men quite captivated by the ideas that he spoke of however the middle aged man had a family and a good job and in the end, left the bench to return to work…it was the younger that became an issue. With high school just behind him, the young man

How does one survive in a desolate wasteland?  To part the dark brown waves as they slap against the shore. To harvest the cold black values that spring from the pale soil.  Running along an unstretched landscape without hope, without love. How did we die? How did we leave this place such?  Honestly it's my own fault; I was the one to turn away. Without my brush to push the trash away, without the rake to pull,  The land became as a lightbulb, dulling until it died down. Now I return, without so much worry, finding the home I had.  The muddy lake before me, the charred weeds around. "I beg for forgiveness," I cried and cried to

Simply, there was a deep shell,  that embraced my young soul.   Isolation, closed doors enveloped,  set aside; Signed, sealed but never sent.   Years of loiter, that and silence.  A path was forced, one that I followed in defiance.   Months of persuasion and protest that I could never sell,  and every first saturday felt like Hell.   But whether it be growth,a change in age,  or the people with which I would hang.   A new man walked the same path, crossed that same bridge;  reformed, refresh and prepared for the coming storms.    An english assignment...I'm kind of happy with it, though I would've liked to make it a bi