Pulse

I sit at the window Ceil and watch the rain drizzle calmly and slowly, but inside my heart begins to pour.

It's not broken, but there where the rhythm sheltered an spontaneous beat it's no longer heard of anymore.

It's merely a thump, a silent sensation with a lack of passion that once set it free

Could it be that the hopes that I once yearned for are no longer in me

What happened to the thrill that made the blood rush threw my veins and the joy cling to my body's every movement

Maybe because it's seeking a way to re invent its self for improvement

The heart has to become sad to understand the meaning of joy, and confused to at some point obtain wisdom to share.

Just because the beat is an unclear one doesn't mean it is no longer there

It is buried only for the moment until you find the satisfying things that uplift you most

That's the moment your spirit is declared alive again, you'll here the pattern of your pulse