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nimble is the hand of fate as she hands out life, merrily she skips along to her own beat.

head in the air not a care in the world her job has been done now its time to move on.

look out dodge the live bullets from the gun of unjust who fires upon any one of the tattered remains of the lost souls, pierced, laying in despair,

some of them still grasping to a sense of trying to survive but so many have succumb to the perils of the event that fell them.

the haunted look,

many philosophies have been written about the despair of life

we tend to take the good things for granted dismissing them almost as our right

we as humanity have no grounding in ourselves, we have faith in our abilities, but we have no dreams.

adults on a whole forget the fantasy of a child's mind after all its been drummed out of them they have to grow up and be responsible its sad

i have never forgotten how to dream, i still want my dreams to come true, maybe they will

so i might be strange to think this way but i am still very much a child at heart and a dreamer and i see no harm in this.