The Cold Blown Air..

Life is but a continous flowing stream...

like a river. flowing with each blow of air...

like air, it accumulates particles not only as it flows over or through other substances but from what the air has itself...

there's always cold and warm air...
cold because of greated water present falls...
warm because less water present rises...

silence is a virtue of death,
unseeming untrue unsaid.
a shallow whisper through the ear,
then the end is here...

one can never predict how one's life would go on...
for how long...

for others, think not why you're "STILL LUCKY TO BE ALIVE" or "HOW UNFORTUNATE" others are but rather ponder better on this....

"WHy are you still alive??"

because in essence, luck isn't really part of the equation of life...
what we can't explain, we owe to supernatural theories if not to the product of Luck...


though i may had never known,
i knew who you are,
who you were... and with that.

Rest well...


========= "The Shadow Prancer"