The presents of ones self takes over me.
the vision of one illuminates my very emotions.
I say nothing, nor does thy.
we pass as if mire strangers for a single moment,
though it fells like we have past a journey.
We say nothing more then the kind words of a greeting.
We ask how each day as been once in blue moon,
but nothing more.
Our words exchange as dull as grey and white,
But the image of us is brighter then the sun itself.
The idea of us being one is nothing more then a dream,
not a dream of hope and change but of impossibly and unrealism.
I wish nothing more for us but life have choice otherwise,
we divide and head opposi