My time is a dwindling light
When the time comes that this sun reaches its arms towards the sea,
Your skin a mirror of its warm embrace,
I believe I no longer walk this earth.
And so heed my words as gentle omen:
The world is but a violent burst of color.
Your life is no prisoner to destitution, unshackled to graze the prairies of an unavoidable kindness with no end.
Where our leaders have fostered long ing for better tomorrows, abandoned all thoughts of selfishness until empathy becomes the only language they know how to speak.
It is beyond fads the way community is never short of the default. Our stories of bygone eras persist the same way jewels do, shining back to us glimpses of those who came before.
Breeding resilience without so much as to cultivate a culture of neglect.
Echoing the voices of strength, the sounds of a crackling fire in every syllable.
No spaces at every turn breathe without existing as a work of art. For the distant sound of clinking bottles are no foreigner to white-freckled skies, laughter following suit to every bottle downed. Your eventual familiarity helplessly entangled with endearment, these neck of the woods serving as home, a real home.
And so I ask you this, child: run. Run as far as the eye could see. From here on out, explore every crevice, every corner, wherever possible with utmost curiosity.
Leave fear far behind, will every experience to become your teacher.
Only time will tell until you outgrow the darkness I raised you in. You and I both, willing victims of the propaganda that flew over our heads. I let it take over us completely.
By then, who knows what is to become of us?