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Blandness
Many times you have let it be, that anger has blinded your eyes and ire has taken over your life. You have embraced sorrow for so long, and you have stayed too long in your bed of grief, that you remember no more what it feels to be happy. You have ceased to live, and life has long left you. You were a bee, but you have long convinced yourself that you are a fly. Oh son, you have allowed death to rule your soul. You have allowed darkness to carry a sceptre, and declare itself king in the kingdom of your being. You have been chained to a post, by an imaginary rope, and you have been held back by your own fear, like a dog without a chain, but still lies around the chaining post. You have closed the doors and the windows and allowed the smoke to sail into your heart. You have broken all the mirrors because when you look at them you see not the scar on your face but that in your heart, but oh, they do not lie. Count not the graveyards lest they sprout outside in your yard. Do not be trapped by what you have not, but be happy and glorious with what you have. Be not wary of the night, but be happy with the light of the day. Do not grumble when morning comes, for though the night is sweet, it cannot cultivate thy crop, and it cannot feed you of the best. Sometime ago I saw a chink in your armour, and I knew that you were brave no more. Stop this son, lest when you die your admirers shower you with compliments, and they anoint your body with hypocrisy, call you a flower when they truly know that you were just but a weed. Gather thy will, son. Find thy coat and find thy feet. The sun has come up. Oh hark, look up and see that the fog has cleared, and again you have the freedom to see. So get up, and seek your smile. Stand up and find what you have long lost. Don thy coat of many colours, and go running out. Run in the soft sheets of rain. Make merry. Make peace with your circumstances. Find thy joy out there, and find peace, for all shall be good, as long as you let yourself breathe the morning air, for at the end of every cry is a sneer, and the end of every tear is joy.

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