Old man

The dark of the night blinded my eyes from the sight of the old homeless man. He was propped upon a bed made of garbage with a burning cigarette placed within his left hand. The sorrow on his face reminded me of the children’s faces watching the holocaust. He smelled like sour milk, a hopeless man waiting for his lucky day to arrive. That was the day I realized the meaning of life itself.

Are you gone?

Closer by Lacuna Coil

Want to get closer, in too deep
Where there is something I wish for I'll go through
Want to get closer into you
No hell to discover
I've got it all inside myself
Salvation you have preached is gone
No way, you can't turn it around

Looking for a higher ground
Searching for this something missed before
From a higher ground
Will I fall in a right direction?
(Higher, searching for more)

Falling apart
There's nothing real
That will convince me to change but I'll go through
Want to get closer into you
No hell to discover
There is just nothing to betray
Salvation you have preached is gone
No way, you can't turn it around

Looking for a higher ground
Searching for this something missed before

From a higher ground
Will I fall in a right direction?
(Higher, searching for more)

Looking for a higher ground
Searching for this something missed before
From a higher ground
Will I fall into your land?

Looking for a higher ground in the world of oxymoron, the ground is low and high is high, it just doesn’t work. Closer by Lacuna Coil, is a free verse full of her feeling about her dreams about not coming true, but it has no rhyme. It’s full of parallel structure “higher searching for more,” it just keeps you interested if it’s going to come up again. Moodiness is set from her unwillingness to find peace, she just believes the hyperbole of “salvation [that was] preached is gone,” since you can’t changes a persons preach. She wants the dream of her love to come true, and wants her imagination to be wrong by the themes of love and hate.

Reasons for Acceptance

             I am not only special I am exceptional. I can climb to the top of the ifel tower in less than a minute. I can read a university textbook in a fraction of a second. I can slurp a bowl of soup without making a sound. I can create a Picasso painting only using my pinky. I can write an essay more superior than an intellectual professor. I can make a salad. I am superwoman.

            Not only are people like me resourceful, people like me live in the African jungle with no more than a single article of clothing. People like me walk on water with a pair of running shoes. People like me can thrash Mr. Van Camp in Jeopardy. People like me say no to face book at school. We are intelligent.

In my life I have helped the homeless. In my life I have fashioned a cure for cancer. In my life people want to be me. In my life I can move from place to place using telecommunication. In my life cooking cupcakes can be made in five minutes instead of the average twenty. In my life I can read the Harry Potter series in less than an hour. People praise me.

On Mondays I climb mountains, on Tuesdays I kick butt at video games. On Wednesdays I accelerate down side streets going 800 kilometers an hour. On Thursdays bike across Canada in less than a hour, on Fridays I walk the town on Penticton in a chicken costume. On Saturdays I stay in bed all day, and on Sundays I trudge across the Sahara desert fending off killer ants. I’m magic.

But my life is still not complete.