The whole world is an oyster,
And an oyster makes pearls,
From little grains of sand,
Sparkling, valuable souls.
The entire world is a stage,
And everyone wears a mask,
Playing the role they were born for,
With no one needing to ask.
The universe runs on fate,
That pulls us by a string,
A path set before us,
Whether you dance or sing.
But not every oyster makes a pearl,
Not everyone's born for the stage,
And sometimes fate forgets us,
Leaving us trapped in a cage.

-

I walk like the reaper on the battlefield,
Where there are no graves,
But the dead are buried beneath sand and rubble,
And not even their names are saved.
Children should have no place in my realm,
Where little dolls are strewn to the side,
When terror pervades in the heart of a city,
When humanity is tossed aside.
I walk upon the ruins of a city,
Scythe and blade in hand,
But nothing could be crueler than this,
The destruction of an innocent land.
And only once can I ask you,
Is this truly humanity's worth and depth?
Because when my scythe finds you,
You will remember you are all equal in death.

-

Perhaps sometimes you should take a moment,
To stop and look around,
Because it could give you insights,
Especially when you're down.
So stop and take a moment,
To appreciate everyone who stayed,
Who showed you kindness at your lowest,
No matter the price they paid.
And even if you never realized it,
Chances are you were never alone,
But maybe you pushed away who loved you,
And those who made you feel home.
For if you ignore what's happening,
And ignore everyone who's godsend,
The wear and tear on your heart,
May never be mended again.

-

I wonder how the world would change,
If people would just ask why,
Maybe the person who's hiding away,
Has a reason for her sighs.
Maybe the person who's refusing,
Is afraid of something she knows,
The fact she keeps her photos away,
Because of the grief they sow.
Maybe the child didn't want to walk there,
Because she was terrified,
And so she stuck to her no,
Even though the adults wouldn't listen to her cries.
Maybe the person who isn't here anymore,
Had a reason for pulling the trigger,
But what's the point if no one asks,
Why she wanted to be six feet under?

-

Thousand of beautiful visions,
Of home, love, desires,
Many more tossed and torn away,
Thrown into a fire.
Never by the dreamers,
But the ones who listened to them,
Who met those dreams with scorn,
As though they had the right to condemn.
And strings bound the dreamers,
Marionettes forced upon a stage,
To live a life they didn't want,
Carrying within them a hidden rage.
And so I walked down the old church road,
Listening to heartbroken screams,
As it stretched on for miles and miles,
The graveyard of dreams.

-

I once saw a little flower,
Growing unfettered by the street,
Her stalks tall and steady,
Roots breaking into the concrete.
I watched her everyday as she grew,
A little taller and brighter,
Despite no sunlight falling upon her,
But her color never grew lighter.
But one day she'd just vanished,
When the day before she stood tall,
And I wondered who had done it,
Pulled out her roots and let her fall.
Sometimes I wonder how she would've grown,
If you'd let her be,
But why would you uproot something so beautiful,
Was it something you did not want to see?

-

I want to one day paint a picture,
That shows everyone what they could be,
That dreams really can come true,
Even if the present seems bleak.
I want to one day paint a melody,
That would soar across the sky,
It would reach the far ends of the universe,
Or at least it would try.
I want to someday paint a story,
Maybe it would be my own,
I'll write you into a whole chapter,
And all the love I could've shown.
I want to someday paint a wonder,
That would hold a little meaning,
Maybe not to the entire world,
But at least to someone who is dreaming.

-

Don't be a rose in a garden,
That was raised just to be gazed upon,
Love is only till they take your flowers,
And until everything is said and done.
Don't be a rose in a garden,
Whose beauty is all it has for it,
It's life is in the gardener's hand,
Her flowers fall, and the ground it hits.
Don't be a rose gathered in a hedge,
Thorns carried amongst the leaves,
Where someone would curse you ,
But say that in you, they believe.
Rather be a wildflower,
That grows everywhere you see,
Maybe you're not noticed by others,
And maybe that's the best way to be.

-

If you ask me whether I believe in God,
I would have to tell you yes.
But I don't see him in heaven or hell,
Nor will I ever be his guest.
I see him in the eyes of my friends,
Who support me with all their hearts,
I see him in the most beautiful things,
Rain, storms, love, worlds apart.
The gentle touch or a whisper,
Of everything she preaches,
The words that speak of a song,
Of the love that she teaches.
The things that make life worth living,
The stories written about our lives,
The fate written in our stars,
The destiny towards which we strive.

-

I once walked the path of a stranger,
And she pretended not to notice me,
Even though I was sure she had,
Because I was rather easy to see.
We walked among the shades of the trees,
Into the heart of a city,
She stopped by a puddle of water,
Because she was thirsty.
I followed her as she met another,
And watched as they touched noses in greeting,
I wondered who that was,
Family, or a stray she'd had the chance of meeting.
We continued down the pathway,
Until she stopped at a litter of kittens,
"Who are you?" I asked, as she seemed so human.
"Alive," she answered, sitting content among them.

-