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I am like a water cycle
If I lay on the sand, could I be washed away?
Could I go with the waves and never come back?
Maybe wind up on the other side of the world with no memory of the life I once lived
The waters, like my story, have turned into a cycle that always returns.
The water goes up, my pain goes away.
Evaporation.
The water condenses, my hurt bottles up.
Condensation.
The water falls down, the tears return.
Precipitation.
I am like a water cycle.
Life seems great, then reality sinks in, and the pain begins.
Its the cycle of blessed sorrow when a person prays not to see tomorrow
The wind holds the melody of my soul
Ironically the waves adapt, and the oceans become my symphony.
I am trapped within my own beautifully broken world
A world where music may trap a spirit
A world where our youth is filled with sorrow
A world where people pray for a better tomorrow
