• Although i might seem bright,
    the sun will always out shine me.
    Eventhough i have my times of despair,
    my life is nothing compared to that of a bug or a fly.

    Yet during the seasons my thoughts could pass as butterflys',
    twisting, turning, and not thinking about the end.
    Holding on to nothing but the fresh breeze of the wind,
    sometimes cold, sometimes dull, but never deciding if its the friend or foe.

    As i walk, the trees change in color,
    happily moving in their own beat.
    But they only change once,
    and thats what i call a color, with the same type of thought.
    A thought of fire that is within me.

    No, not just because they turned red,
    but the fire in my eyes.
    Now the same color as the trees,
    i let go and fry.

    Leaving not a hair, or ash in site,
    only the leaves remain, for the burning never stoped.