Without creativity we lose the flame.

Without sincerity we lose the humane.

Without poetry we forget past pain.

Without pain we never gain.

Without knowledge we only remain, and never break from restrain.

With growth we finally free the brain.

Who am I if I'm not alive enough to see?

Who can I become with so much internal deceit?

Who and what is a soul when it's become lost?

Who and what is remembered when I'm forgot?

We all traverse pain, we all know it's true name.

The cold eternal flame that is universally the same, the fuel to this almighty game of life we confusingly play.

The unforgiving grasp tightens on our minds, and sinks faster than an anchor.

The unrecognizable emotions rip and tear the morality of even our best thinker.

The unjustifiable nonsense occurring has a globalized society acting consistently "faker".

The mind and reality can be united, finally at peace, if we only knew the truth behind our creator.

Our true maker.

The answer is simple.

The answer creates a giant ripple.

The answer of our creator would allow everyone to sprint, even the *******.

Seeping into this mattress the only consistency I know now, the only object I recognize is my stoic unchanging frown.

Running away always seems the viable choice, but the lonely mind is succumbed to having no voice.

The choice is directly in front of me and my hand, yet it looks so hideously bland, I don't understand.

When will my soul become a part of this confusing land?

So easily forgotten, do we remember the bright days of playing in the sand?

When dreams were always ingrained in the inevitable plan?

We all seem to forget the small thought of no matter what I can.

Desperate claws towards the fading sunset, wishing for one last duet.

Pestering pleas towards the fading trees, withering leaves as I can never please.

Inevitable tears as I accept this is the end, as I see you float away from our riverbend.

The mountains around reinvigorating life, the kaleidoscope of nature initiating a sheathed knife.

The beauty perplexing the greatest of mind, too often blind to the undefined and unrefined.

Taking a second to be in awe, the beauty of it all, the beauty of absolute organic law.

Chattering boxes are but the brain at work, with dreary thoughts doing the consistent work.

Laughable laughs come out as bold lies, as the true core we barely adore slowly dies.

With true words never being spoken, will the dark spell of the fraudulent counterfeits ever be broken?

The world is now digital and synthetic, and the almighty aesthetic is now genetic.