Scenery.

Poor man: I can always see the easier way out in these harder days. I throw this lighter out and put out all the fumes in my life, I got to find a place to chill. Heated, thrown in a pot, I’m melting away my chances to heaven. This is the way I am, this is the way this place has made me. This place, this scenery, through my eyes. The only hell I know without fire seen but fire felt. This’ why I’m hurt. I hope to diminish continuing days like this. My eyes have seen things that these eyes hope never to see again. So with this, I’ll take my life...to the light I’ve never seen.

Rich wise man: I know this world and how it works. This is why I am wealthy, not with money, but, with heart. This world, is a wonder. This may be a world of misery for those who are reluctant to see it, not as what it is, but as what it could be. This world is their hell, as they would call it. It’s amazing for those whom hearts of pure ice are not affected by hells fire which they endure. I assume these hearts, if even liable to be called “hearts”, grew tired of being burned, fought back, and began to hurt others. A human with a heart such as this, can only last so long. This fire melts those hearts, tearing them apart. They remain torn, in failure. This world is a cycle, and has a cycle. Those hearts that have been melted by fire, set an example. Those hearts turned into water and then let themselves evaporate in sheer defeat. If lesson learned by this next generation, they didn’t die in vain. Egotistically, these hearts continue to turn cold in believing that their struggle shall always be a struggle. Nevertheless, water can always put out fire. If those hearts did persevere, their struggle would’ve ended.

You can’t buy knowledge, only collect it. As time went by, I‘ve grown wiser, collecting knowledge. In its continuum, I‘ve grown more logically than emotionally. I seem to leave my heart behind, emotions and all. Even so, I still have my heart with me. I, too, have this fire but these fumes don’t run around me. These fumes burn in my heart, in triumph. Fire burns in your heart only if you can handle it. You could never fight fire, that’s the most common mistake. They try to fight fire, and end up getting too close. They die. Others just endure it. Those who do, have a better chance surviving to those who fought back. Fight back, or put up with it. It’s the only thing they do, by instinct. If only the example was effortless and clear. If at all possible, they knew that the only way to fight fire, is with water...

Poor man’s younger brother: Young poet twisted in the head, diagnosed “ill with loose screws.” Young write who illustrates his environment with his words, notoriously raised by street crews. Our father is dead, and the tide is more than waist deep. Our mother drunk and snowblind, leaving us with no place to sleep. The streets are all we have left, so we rhythm in the shadows of the street thugs quietly. Peer pressure is a bitch, and addiction is a whore. We are the waves, like the ripple effect, we do what they do. An effect, somehow, I managed to pull away from. Scars are healing. If it’s one thing my brother taught me is, “the fate of 2 souls lie within the back-end of the gun.” No matter the outcome, time continues with the setting of the sun. however hard these times, it continues. The clock keeps ticking, death lurking. Seeking. Those who seek IT. Thinking only of the end, unthought-of what’s beyond. I see the darkness in front of me, and picture the light in my mind. I, hope that one day, these fumes will die out...