Mortified.

Mortified.


A distant lie,
with a close inspection of truth.
A hidden face,
with an exposed expression of grief.

Can I be any clearer?

Hiding in the shadows lie you and I,
a hint of light shines through crakes.
Revealing our eyes only for an instant,
secrets and truth are finally exchanged.

This is not about you nor I.

Seasons are forever changing,
it goes from life to death and
death to life, it's just the cycle.
The weak can't cut it, the strong survive.
Human nature and behavior
seems a bit extinct now a days don't you think?

Forget the life cycle what about our feeelings?

Rivers are always running,
ponds are always still.
The best type of water is running,
because it's always fresh.
While ponds sit,
never escaping their confinement.

What type of water are you?
And what type of water am I?