We were born in darkness.
And yet we hate our self.
We will now kill the forest with light.
And all the world will be alive.
Waiting.
Crying.
Longing for the night…
Category: Cosmos
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Being the same… Being different…
Being the same.
Being different.
At the end, if you look really close, you will find that everything is different from everything else. And in such a cosmos, full of chaos and change, there would be nothing to see.
Nothing to feel or think of.
In such a cosmos all you could do is create new things.
Or destroy everything that there is.
How weird.
(Aren’t you scared?)
Everything has already been…
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A star died…
A star died.
Billions of years ago.
A small speck of light in the sky.
Nothing to see.
Oh, I am so tired.
Let me turn on the TV…
Poetic Philosophy 