Bunguswa Writes.

Like birds of the air that flys high; like twigs that dance to dictates of the whirlwind, life is a mystery of it's kind, an echo, oft° uncontrolled, to which we only can sigh. We cry and wipe the tears, like drizzles from a light cloud, that wets the earth only to be dried out aloud, Alike, the whistling wind will whistle away our fears. Chesrish solitude under the fecund moon, listen to the echo of the glowing stars they unite us in love and erase our scars to redeem our souls, and relight our spirits soon. Again, as the dark cloud gathers, stand under the rain, and wash away salty tears and the pain. ©Bunguswa.™

Minerva, so you've affirmed you're gone. Gone never to come again, and all I'm left to feed on is the pain- this that eats the flesh to the bone. Minerva, thank you for the life lessons, I'll oft° remember you though my end beckons. My heart aches and now I know; I know deeds that can make a butterfly run mad, Or a termite commit suicide. Minerva, it pains to the bone and now I know, I know where the universe's unknown end reigns and where Earth's unforgiving brutality begins. Minerva, up the sky the moon murmurs sadly; The dull night unconcerned, lazily gives way to morning, thus the long night rekindles my mourning, for Minerva's loss and the soul I'm giving away bravely. For earth reddens at the sun's glow and the rain, So will my ashes rest in the common urn. ©Bunguswa™