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This is for every brave soul, the ones that experience every sad day, every happy day, every 'I can't go on' day, and every 'I'm gonna get up right now and I'm gonna do this' day.
This is for those that live with their heads in the clouds, the brave souls, those that are bold enough to dream, and those who have the courage to love so unconditionally and thoroughly that it breaks the darkness and pushes the sun up. They say, 'Hey, I love those pants you picked out today,' 'Have you eaten yet?,' and 'HMU when you get home.' I'm with the brave souls—the ones that fill their own cups with heavy, messed-up days, the 'What have I done' days, the 'I got to heal' days, and the 'I don't know how I'm gonna get through this' days.
This world is not for the faint-hearted; this world is for the wild-hearted. Those who are tenacious and wise enough, open enough to understand that the only way to get over something is to go through it. If you must label us, then put us with those who believe in truth, those who seek a greater meaning than this world of technologies with TV and computers in our pockets.
Cause if we go down, I want to be with those who turn every loss into lessons—the hearts that don't shrink when they've lost everything, that good stuff that just keeps going, the ones who know better days are on the way.
This is for those who know that all these faces, lives, all the moons, stars, and skies are rich and immeasurable by this world. So hang on, you're almost there, keep going. This world isn't wrapped in a bow, but it's still a gift though
About the Creator
M.O. Hidalgo
Aspiring Writer | Expressing my soul by any means| Recognized by the G's, gentlemen and scholars | Sharing my words to stay off the streets | Join me on this transformative poetic journey #PoetryHeals
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Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis7 days ago in Humans
Comments (2)
Great work! Love it! Keep writing!
Nice! Well written