Perspective

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“The perspective of things? Well, it kind of all depends on how you perceive them does it not?” Gun Roswell

Perspective 

The hustle and bustle of the busy street, over crowded with vehicles and people on their rapidly moving feet. Why do I even bother to come here at all, when I simply wish I could time stall and spend my days in quiet and peace, alone some please else like sailing on the seven seas. Alas, I am stuck in this city of eternity, biding my time to get out of here. So why oh why oh might deities, can’t you hear and answer my desperate prayers.

Still, I know things are fine for me here, in the midst of the sea of people, none the worse but not better either. It’s not that I am totally suffering from anything really. It’s just the mind of me, playing those tricks you see, I am a person who does not really want company. And all the crowds out in the streets over there, scare me half to death if out venture dare. Why you may ask? Well, I cannot explain, but if I too long out here remain, I get all panicky and afraid so guess it just is what it is.

So, leave me to my dreams for now, the perfect vision of the solemn waves and beyond, sailing on my small boat alone, towards a future unset and without too many souls tagging along. Yep, guess that is me and my perspective of life, a quiet place without sound or strife and simple days with lots of smiles.

The blackest cat

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“The black cat did not cross the road, just because it did not want to be a cliche” Gun Roswell

The blackest cat

Intimidating they tried to be, for you see, that was the reputation to upkeep
Sullen and hardcore, a fighter sworn to be to the bitter end you see
As this was the often painted totally cliched image of the black cats heritage
But what if they did not want to live up to said sad and bad reputation at all
What if the only thing in the whole wide world for them was to play with a red ball
Then after the whole day spent, in fun never to relent, they would get
A bowl of milk and some tuna, then meow at the dark night in the light of the Luna
And after a while of having spent some time doing the things they loved
Curling up in a black ball of fur, and all cliches out the open window hurl
Sleeping soundly with a loud purr, next to their best Hooman boy or girl
As this black cat never wanted to be someone bad or the unspoken omen
Only a loved and treasured member of their adoptive family not the offender
And certainly never crossing a road, just because the tale so long ago told