I am the sound of silence, the echo

of emptiness amongst the heathens.

I stand tall on my belief, under the

secret pavilion of the most high I reside.

I saw it, and understood it; that a wicked

man is but a child that wants to be seen,

and praised for the storm’s he throws into

people’s lives.

I understood that a life of a man is

cheaper than a bubble gum, when the

taste of it is finished, one spit it out: and

throw it away; by the likeness of a wicked

man.

I was clearly told that a heart of a man is

wicked, but at that moment the scriptures

were forgotten, as some were erased from

the backup of my medulla oblongata.

I saw the tear’s flowing from the face of

a man of justice: ocean of tear’s running

down rivulet flooding on the wilderness,

while comfort was nowhere to be found.

The tear’s of the righteous flowed and

left the streams of pain and anguish:

Yet the believer always believed that

there will be vindication at some point.

Always believe in the midst of chaos,

surely comfort peace will beg it’s way

unto thine self no matter how long it

may take; “Don’t kill yourself but skill

yourself.”