Lines of White

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Shadows of black and white
swirl and circle together in perfect harmony.
From the brightest mornings
to the darkest nights-inseparable.
From the sheltered souls
to the hardened spirits-unchangeable.
To see in one color
is to erase that sought for beauty.
In crossing the plane of life,
we may move one; we may forget,
but what our eyes lose,
our hearts forever remember.

The pain of life is unbearable;
the cloak of death is inescapable.
We run, we scream, we hide,
and all we see is a quiet shadow.
The knife stares at you,
eyes mixed with pity and sorrow.
It is your knife,
filled with hardship and suffering.
Crying, tears bleeding from your eyes, you collapse.

"What is life?" you ask.
Life is beauty.
Life is death.
Life is a connection.
Life is a journey,
a journey of black sorrow,
a journey of crushed hopes,
a journey of painful loss,
a journey of buried love.
But is a journey of lines of white
piercing the thick black background.
The lines streak across with majesty,
exposing that so-called "happiness".
They beam as valiant stars in the sky.
They shine as glittering seas in the evening.
We live for this beauty;
we die for this beauty.
And only on the pitch black darkness can these lines of white
remain forever dear,
in our hearts,
in our souls,
in the depths of vast oceans,
in the heights of open skies,
in the fields of endless wars,
in the beds of dying men,
lines of white forever dear,
marking the world over,
giving each person that little bit
of joyful bliss.





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