Sunday, August 21, 2005
My style so old. Yet I know that my words will affect like no other. Respect is such a lost practice, why has the world turned to this, false reality. Everything so material. No one sees the beauty in a light sunset, the way a butterfly floats through the air, the sheer beauty of the wind against your face on a breezy day. No beauty, no thought. Your minds are as closed as no one had hoped for all these years. I hope one day you look at yourself in disgust at all the things you've said, all the people you've hurt in past years. All for reasons that cannot be explained. Your excuses are worn, your morals so cliche`. When I look, I see beauty, I see love, I see gratitude, and gratefulness. When you look you see faint outlines of everything, all in the color of old stone, you see greed, and ignorance. Why all of this? One day all the best questions will be answered, for now all we have are vague excuses for what you've done, and it sickens me.