Attic Filled With Knicknacks

The sound of twisting metal
A sound all men fear
The mere sight brings a since of
pain to ones heart
A metaphor for life I guess
We are fragile creatures
Just flesh and bones
But yet we perserved the top of the food chain
A juicy steak does sound quite pleasant at the moment But
There's always but
We do have one known enemy Us
We are the creator
We are the destroyer
Have you taken a glance at mother earth lately
Towering buildings ,fumes from factory Have taken the place of the fresh scent of a breeze floating through the trees
Peace
What peace
Well if you call this noise peace Siren whistling through the night air
I know a right
My mind aches for the day I find peace I imagine the experience is wonderful
Like the first time you ride a rollercoaster, Adrenaline pumping the thrill of excitement wind rushing through the screams of terror To realize you hate rollercoaster
Which is just a personal preference
But indeed life is that rollercoaster
You can avoid it or suck it up and look fear dead in the eye And Say no
You will not control this beautiful existence
We were born to Live
We just happend to die
Thats what makes it so beautiful
We have this short window
To Experience the scent of a dozen Rose's Hand picked for the person that raises your pulse to the point you are thinking you're having a heart attack
Or the first smile of a mother seeing the little one she has created singing the sweet tune of life
Life isn't supposed be easy
It's supposed to mold you into a magnificent sculpture We all start out as a lump of clay Experiences good or bad
Are the hands that massage us til we start to take form And as for these storms
The frost that pierces the soul during the coldest winters
No worries
Soon enough you'll be inside enjoying the crackling and the fresh scent of burning wood The same warmth you feel when you are embraced By the theif that stole the most vital organ In your cardiovascular system
Which doesn't matter because you would of willingly given it to them if they asked Apologize this mind of mine Is a attic filled with all sorts of knickknacks
Some are kept in the dusty cobb web filled corner of the room away from the seeing eye because the mere image brings pain
But whose knows if I trust you enough I give you the key What lies inside may be the treasure you need to get through the day
Days like this make me reminisce of my youth
Grass stain jeans, koolaid colored tounges, and scent of cherry coming from my breathe
Ah how loving and caring the little innocent version of me was
Then we grow up
We fall head over heels and stratle that thin line between love and hate