Personal views on life

Poring rain, howling thunder and nasty storm creeps through silently. Dogs barking as all living things run for shelter. Crackling of a rusted gate, through the garden of sprouting weeds and into a door which needs greasing, there is a wooden door, which is more of the windows to one’s soul. There lay a man sitting on the chair, lighting up his hash pipe and thinking of the drastic events.

“Oh dear,” The man replied. As he puffed from his hash pipe, he said: “Be reddened of me you troubled past, I shall not once more follow you or listen to you.” Then a sound came from his left. The most eerie crackling of the door hinges. The man look to the left but no one was there.

“All how silly of Me.” the man said. “Apart from above, who else would come to talk to me?” The sound of footsteps was heard, he looked around but there is nothing to be seen. Chills run down his spine, as he saw that no one is there. The door shuts from his left but nothing is around him other then his hash pipe and his table of poems written and scattered above the table. Gun shots were heard all over the room.

Panicked, he ran towards the door but the door just would not open. It must have been the hinges that have not been properly greased as so it seemed… It is true that he could not run away from what he has experienced.

He saw a ghostly figure that came to life from his poems. He stared at it. The poem entitled the ‘Essence of time’. To his horrid, he saw a medieval war going on. His curiosity draws him towards the paper. He picked up the paper. To his astonishment the ghostly images then grows and soon covers the entire room.

He saw that the images where real. In fact, he was knocked down by a man in shinning amour. He decided to hide under the table. In doing so, he knocked down all his poems onto the floor and a mess he made.

Then ghostly events of the war changes to an event where it is seen that there is a gate blocking him from accessing through the other side which is so green till the extant of his eyes can see. However, he saw his side full of corpses which smells He saw a fair maiden on the other side of the gate picking up flowers. Oh what a beauty the maiden is for she captures his heart. He decided to climb over the gate to greet the maiden. As he was walking over to the maiden, the fair maiden turn her back on him and ran away. He shouted what was her name and she just smile and said I am who I am. She then disappears into the mist.

The ground shook and trembles. Fire soon burst out from the ground. As it started to heat up, the poet tried to reach for the gate but the gate has become too high for the poet to climb. He then remembered his poem ‘Across the world’ whispered to his mind. He then hits himself as it was a wrong move to climb across the fence.

It seems too late for him to turn back. All he could do is try to recall his poems that could help him solve his problems. He needs to remember of his next poem. The fire then spread around him and starting to move closer to him. He thought to himself that maybe it could be 'the four seasons'. That could blow the fire away. So with patience, he waited until the fire is just within hand length he started to panic.

He then shouted: “Is there anyone to help me?” True enough the fire succeeds and he felt the sudden comfort. Then he remembered that the maiden could be where his heart is. This made him think of the poem ‘Where is true love’.

A dove came to his side and stared at him. His heart soon melted. Perhaps I am moving out of these horrid memories. Soon a soothing sound which calms his heart appears. ‘The whispers within’ will be always there to support him through the entire problem he may encounter.

“This is strange God, if it is you why are you letting me through this?” cried the desperate man. There was no sound heard. ‘Living to the Name’ a purpose? Well it doesn’t seem true. Not to him it does now. “How am I able to fix myself from such a problem if there is nothing to live?” the man said in vain.

This then is the present such… The rain poured as it hits the window. Waking the man thus from this horrid spell. Knowing that this may hunt him for the rest of his life or may most probably is wound to his life.

He pondered to himself: “people think it is good that as long as if you ask for something you receive it is good. As long as there is someone to care for you, the person is contented. I wish that there truly is someone there other than God. The truth is that I really could not deny that if I ask for something I may receive but something still feels empty. If I were to just leave for one week without telling anyone anything, other then people asking me for favors, there is no one there (I really hope I am wrong). Even the one that I cared for the most would not do thus the same back. Life really sickens me. Rip what you sow…this saying well it maybe from the bible but no I do not feel it. Maybe and just maybe I am sowing the wrong seed by caring for someone who doesn’t seem to care. I feel like I am the pebble on the floor trying to talk to a diamond in a case or even a pauper talking to a prince/princess. Conclusion, I should just be like a pebble thrown in to the sea. As it skids away, it bids farewell. I would just be another shadow hidden underneath the sea.”

The man sigh to himself: “I really have a depressing life.” The man then yelled in pain for he did live a sad and anguish life but no matter how hard or loud he shout, the pain will only be felt by the people within the four corners of the wall which is himself and himself alone to bare. Ever wondering as the rain pours that there is a rainbow at the other end.

He looked around the floor and saw the mess that he had made on the floor. He wondered whether it was a spell or just a doze. Sleeping does seem to be the right choice but his poems scattered all around him. Possibly it could be cast by his overpowering memories that flooded him.