"Untitled"

I wrote this when I was in the nineth grade. At the time I had a hope into writing a book called, "Crazy and Dream." Was a thought of book of short stories; a point of view of "crazy" reality and another point of view from a dreamer (although both aspects very much different). This entry was going to be the introduction of the "Crazy" part of short stories.

The fear of pain or the pain of fear.
The world can be fullfilled in fear but the pain comes along with the fear of love.
The fear of eternal feelings is feared by all of life.
The world would die, the world will become alive.
The world is alive.
Painful sense overwhelms to one who makes sense.
For one who does not make sense, the world is thought of as love, pain, fear, feelings...
in the world of memmories the sane world of life and death makes the world.
Life is crazy.

October 5, 1997 - 4:08pm

Elegance of Creation

A tiny string vibrating frantically in the darkness,
all alone not another presence in sight,
not knowing what will become of its structure,
its nature,
its life.

Something in the near distance roaming in the black,
an attraction not felt before,
but all but the same,
this draws the unknowns close,
swirling around one another,
a third draws near,
the attraction is there,
but it is not the same,
circling one another til,
inescapable attraction,
they become as one.

The elementary being now as one,
roaming aimlessly in the oblivion,
positive in nature,
wanting to find its opposite,
negativity floats by and can't resist,
a burst of light screams of heat,
the two did not miss.

Rippling across the darkness,
this turns massive,
clouds fill the emptiness and beyond.

The ever-longing attraction is wandering still,
swirls of hot vapor,
balls of burning light,
growing and collecting everything in sight,
wait for too long for something,
something not inviting,
something elegant,
something full of life.

Nothing is the same now,
no singularity,
dual existence and creation,
multiple existence and creation,
not alone anymore.

The explosion fills the distance,
back to the clouds,
now full of dust.

Swirling again,
now in partners,
birth of new structure and life,
flaming luminescence in the center,
cold a dreary children around its maker,
some with life,
some with death,
some eagerly wanting to be the maker.

Siblings of the maker not far by,
circling and drawing closer to death,
blackness devouring in the center,
to never come back.

Existence extending into the universe,
never ending,
inevitable extinction,
or back to the beginning.