Philosopher's Pen

When I was little, I thought some day I would make something that no body had ever seen. But the world always told me otherwise I almost believed, Then I WAS BORN AGAIN To DREAM AGAIN This is when I REALIZED HOWEVER REALISTIC A MAN IS TOMORROW IS A DREAM And it is so sweet to dream Knowing that living is the art of dreaming done wakefulness.

Trying my best to write a perfect story Somehow imperfections come Even my perfect imagination is imperfect I try to put every spelling right to coma and full stop perfectly Somehow they find a way of falling out of place I know that that it is not ok but the story of my life is turning out somehow as I wished it But with unexpected twists of fate Unexplained turn of events Opportunities come but somehow nature plays mischief Now that I am about to write a perfect chapter my computer crushes Will I be able to remember the flow after the this day Mhh, how much control do I really have I don't know I sometimes I wish I made a different choice I know I made this one I am living with in good faith Why does it end in bad taste? How much good will is because of the choices made How much of it is just a wild Stoke of undeserved luck? Silly question because dumb mother nature would not speak Silent father time will always tell when he is too spent to change anything Life is a silent song L