The Flight of Butterflies

The Flight of Butterflies

A Story by cassandra violet
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This is a creative narrative essay I wrote about the biggest transformation that I went through in my life recently.

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There are two different sides of Mexico City, much like there are two different sides of myself.  The area where the wealthy reside shines with gorgeous mansions and luxurious apartments that line the streets humming together in unity. The ground sprouts flowers and trees that smile at their inhabitants and the obnoxious shrieks that shout from the lips of the rapid pace of the city are silenced. Families can be seen strolling the worn down pavement, grinning amongst themselves, obliviously ignoring any foreigner to their class. On sunny days Mexico City appears to be not a city at all, but instead a perfectly painted picture that is worthy of a king’s hall. Then, right down the street there is another world, panting from exhaustion and muted by a small portion of the population. It’s littered and clustered streets beat anxiously, driven into depression by poverty and loneliness. There are no police; instead the roads are governed by manipulation and blood. Houses are built on top of each other and small, cold beds are shared. It is a sad scene that when stared at for too long can drive a soul into a madness deeper then their hearts can hold. This sad scene is inevitable; even in the richest areas of the city there are lingering beggars who wake up in the chill of dawn to walk to their streets jobs from the squalid area they call home. They stand on the pavement all day, sadly shielding their faces from the heat of the sun. Those who carelessly pass them cover their eyes, protecting their blind pupils from the strikes of dust the angry wind violently blows off the ground in an attempt to make them stop and see the beggars. Though the wind is fierce, it is not strong enough to crush the walls the fortunate few hide behind. Despite their pleas, despite the few who passionately fight for them, poverty continues to shadow the streets like rootless weeds in a meadow of flowers.

Children are the most commonly hired beggars because the sight of a thin, filthy face that frowns at your heart from a body of dirty rags evokes more emotion then the middle-aged drunk beggar. The first time I witnessed one of these children I felt my eyes swell up, like waves ready to collapse into dangerous, destructive currents. There she was, staring at me with round saddened eyes that whispered. The Child’s eyes looked lost, like they had removed themselves from this world to dwell in a safer place. Uneven, chopped hair danced in sporadic directions around her face and was spotted with specks of dirt and leaves. Her lips turned a permanent frown and each time her heart beat I could feel her skin pulsating with pain just inches from mine. I was ten years old, she looked liked she was merely several years younger then me. Part of me wanted to curiously reach out and touch her- just to prove she was real. It seemed impossible to me to see a creature so strikingly different from myself. She had never lived a life like mine. I had never known her world, she was alien to me, like a fish stepping its fins on dirt.

    My body instinctively spun to face my father, anxious to ask him to help the child; but he denied my request for a reason I was too young to understand.  In that moment my veins rushed with anger and my breath charged at the redness of my lungs like an enraged bull as my father dragged me away from her. I felt as if my dad, the person I loved the most in the world, was a cold, hideous stranger, rushing me along streets against my will. His palm clung to mine, shielding me from the potential dangers that lurked in the shadows, but his grip felt smothering; the warmth of his skin burned me. The tightness he held on with caused my muscles to ache with the dreadful feeling of being weak, of needing protection when there were others who had not been granted that luxury. I was ashamed of who I was, of what I had been given in life while others who seemed just as deserving had nothing. My legs dragged with pity for the unfortunate girl and my arms weighed down with guilt because I had not been able to help her. I felt selfish. I felt useless. I was young and my emotions erupted from me like the raging wind of a thunderstorm. After walking several blocks I could not hold it in anymore; I began to drain my confusion and frustration through currents of dangerous tears. I collapsed my corpse onto the rancid pavement and threw my head to my knees as my eyes spat dreary rain that streamed down my face. I could barely hear my father concerns as he asked me what was wrong. I was only aware of my tears that began to wash away the ignorance I had once happily basked in. She was the truth confronting what I had thought the world was. I felt like I had spent the past ten years of my life blind and I had finally been granted the gift of sight, only to discover that the world was a wretched place.

The child stuck out against the well-dressed people who walked past her without so much as a glance as strongly as my free spirit contrasted against that city as its walls chained and trapped me in. People pointed and laughed at me as I sat feelings the child’s pain on that curb- my fathers friend told me that I would get used to it. I refused to ever forget this feeling though, wanting to help the child was now a part of who I was. I promised myself I wouldn’t abandon her. When I moved to Mexico City during the first two weeks I lived there, before discovering the problem of poverty, my father told me that he couldn’t let me out of the house by myself until I was much older; the city was too dangerous. So, when I was lonely or frustrated because of my imprisonment, I would sit on top of the unnecessarily tall walls that shielded out the real world and watched the horizon, longing to run through it. It was my dream to see everything the world had to offer. I’d watch people walk past our house and happily wave at them, wishing a wall didn’t separate us. I felt isolated from the world, I wanted to discover not only the beautiful place I lived in, but I wanted to meet the interesting people who resided in it as well. I cared deeply for the world, like a mother to a child. When I learned of how this wall separated society, I grew to hate it and avoided going near it at all possibly costs even though it was only of my few sources of enjoyment while being trapped inside. I desperately wanted to knock down every wall in the city down so I could let the poor into the homes of the rich. I didn’t understand why I lived in a world where the majority of the wealth rested in so little of the population, and why those lucky few refused to share with those who had almost nothing. How could these people refuse helping fellow human beings? The last day that I allowed myself to sit on top of our wall, the day after seeing a child beggar for the first time, I noticed that the walls of the rich houses that lined my street shadowed much of the ground, ground that longed and deserved to feel the sunlight. The areas that were shadowed by the walls could not grow plants, and so the seeds that were planted in them would never get a chance to blossom into beautiful petals.

    I vaguely remember people passing me on that day I broke down fell to that curb in tears; they rushed down the road on their way to an unknown place for their own reasons. Cars sped by and people passed me engaged in quick conversation. Food stands released sweet smelling food into the cool air and artists sold their work in the grass. While there was so much going on in the world, all of which I preciously would have been fascinated by, I didn’t see anything but sadness as I sat lost on that littered curb. I could not recall my past or who I was; the thought of my future blew away into the crying wind that seemed to be the only thing in the city sharing my misery. I forgot my memories of laughter, I forgot the dreams my fingers reached for, I felt that I was selfish for experiencing these pleasures and I was horrible for having dreams when these children didn’t get their own. I forgot that I wanted to see the world; I told myself that I would have to instead dedicate myself to solving the problems of the poor first. The pleading curve of the child’s eyes stitched itself into my thoughts and I found myself searching them desperately every night in my dreams. My head looked for answers, it tried contemplating a solution- but I would soon come to learn that not all problems have easy solutions, let alone ones that can be solved with a single caring heart, no matter how strong their beats pump to do so.

 You see, by giving these children money, I would really be giving my money to the people who hired them. So, by helping them I would be supporting child labor and allowing these bad men to think they could take these helpless kids out of school to work the streets, murdering the children’s dreams by doing so. Part of the money I wanted to give them would have gone to their parents, but there was no way to tell what their parents would have used that money for. It would be impossible to know if the money would be used to buy the children food, clothes and shelter, or if it will be put towards feeding their caretakers mouths with the drugs they could potentially selfishly long for. The saddest part of all? Little money that very few people gave actually managed to find it’s way into the hands of those good parents, those who wanted to give their children a better life. The money that did make its way there would not have been enough to make much of a difference. It would barely be a sufficient amount to keep them alive, because the majority of the funds would have remained resting in the hands of the drug lords, gang leaders and corrupt cops who thrived on profiting from other’s pity. The way begging works in Mexico is like this- there is an owner to a public street, not legally but in the harshness of the corrupt world the city lived in, and if someone wanted to beg on a certain street, they would have to seek permission from the owner- whichever corrupt individual that may have the rights to the streets ownership. They would then grant the beggar permission to “work” but only in exchange for a portion of the profits the beggar would make, and that portion was always the majority.

The first few years I lived there the children continued to call after me wherever I went- “Me puedes dar dinero?” Can you give me money? Their desperate cries echoed in my head and trotted along the walls of my mind, drilling into my skull and slowly chipping away at my sanity. I became enraged with myself for not coming up with a  way to help them, for every day I couldn’t figure out a way, I grew a little bit more bitter towards myself. Eventually after being sad for so long I couldn’t take it anymore and so I did the only thing I could do- I followed the advice that had been given to me and I taught myself to shut out their cries and continue on, focusing my eyes upon the cracked, trembling ground the children stood on. As time passed, it became easier to ignore them. They became flies, flying towards my face only when I swat at them. The art of indifference is not an acquired skill; it’s a force that anyone may incorporate into his or her nature. It is an unconscious energy that is magnetized by our souls as a shield, a mere protection. Many in Mexico City and in all other areas of the world have learned to embrace its divine power. There are times when it is better to feel empty like a container whose food had been consumed or drained, rather then to be a container that was full and then dropped, broken about on the floor with its contents splattering into dreary corners left to spoil. However, while this is the easy solution to escape the sadness we experience upon witnessing the problems tied and chained to the world like slaves, it is not one that will nourish our souls; more importantly, it is not one that will help those we shed our tears for.

The sight of that child shadowed my ability to feel happiness. I had never known that a wound could be cut that deep, the scars stained my skin fiercely, roughly contrasting against my naked flesh. When I told myself I could no longer handle experiencing such a harrowing emotion and made the decision to shut their voices out, I was foolishly making a mistake that would transform my essence and cause me to throw away several years of my life. Sadly, those years were wasted; the time we have to experience being alive is precious…limited… and I’ll never get those years back, but I’ve learned my lesson and I will not dwell on my regrets, and while I had to live without it for many dreadful years, when my passion returned to me it came back more fiercely then I had ever remembered it and I felt more alive then I had ever felt. From this experience I learned that the only way to change the world is by living our lives without fear, accepting and embracing all emotions that pump through our veins, the good and the bad. Not letting our emotions stop us from having faith, from remaining hopeful and optimistic and inspiriting others to long for the change we see.

I learned that the only way I could ignore the children was to teach myself to feel no emotion of any kind. I wanted to rid myself of all emotion so I could forget the poverty I knew I was powerless to change. I wanted to forget this poverty because it made me feel misery that I had never known. I did not want to feel sadness because that experience caused me to see that feeling as the most horrible thing to experience in life, it made me forget who I was and once I lost myself I forgot that the old me would have known that I needed to be strong to help these people. Instead, all sadness that I experienced from then on, whether relevant to the problem of poverty or not, brought back memories of the guilt I felt from being unable to transform the misfortune of others. When I became sad, I would drown myself in my depression because I lived in a city that basked in it, that was smothered in it. I slowly began loosing my faith in the world and the idea of change. I couldn’t make myself see the good in the world because I was too focused on the bad, and so I eventually believed that there was no good fighting for. After that I lost hope for change, I felt guilty every time I was happy, asking myself how I could be happy in such a bitter world. Being happy would make me feel sad, there was no escaping the depressed state I had entered. again I would enter a state of depression.

So I turned to riding myself of all emotions as a reasonable solution to the problem my soul soon fell under the shadows of the monstrous mask my face clung onto as I cowardly hid behind it. Refusing to feel anything led to me planting the absurd idea in my head that I could not be passionate about things and I could not formm relationships with people because all of those things involved having emotions. I began to fear all relationships, both romantic and those merely of friendship, believing that they could only lead to the crushing of my heart. I would not allow myself to love another because becoming that close to someone would mean eventually having to explain not only that unfortunate experience, but it would require recalling every dreary moment I had ever encountered in my life. Relationships require emotions. I was paranoid and obsessed with the possibility that when I became close to someone and did not open up, they would attempt to pry into my mind, naturally seeking a deeper relationship and upon my refusal they would feel offended that I did not wish to confide in them like they so wished to confide in me and as a result would abandon me, and I would inevitably get hurt.

That wasn’t the biggest mistake I made though. The worst thing I ever did because of my fear of getting hurt was loosing faith in myself. I didn’t take chances because I was too worried that only failure would come from doing so. I had convinced myself that because I failed at helping the children, because I couldn’t come up with an immediate solution, I would fail at every obstacle encountered in life. I stopped writing, I stopped having hobbies, I let go of all my friends, I refused every romantic offer that came my way, all of which were the very things that could have been the light in the darkness I felt the world had become. My brown eyes that once sparkled became deep holes whose bottom could not be seen. The holes my eyes had dug extended to the fiery gates of hell. I never stopped to think that while bad things would always be encountered in life, the good could always be implanted more strongly in our memories, if only we make it so. The way we experience the world depends on how we decide to interpret our encounters and the emotions that result from them, but I didn’t see that at the time. As I got older, I would fortunately learn that the shine of the sun is always stronger then the faded flicker of the moon. I would realize that with every sunset follows a glorious sunrise.

     Man and emotions are like butterflies in the sun. Butterflies have beautiful wings, but their wings can only be seen and appreciated upon exiting their cocoon and treading into a dark, unpredictable world. Some flutter into heaven, while others are poked at, stepped on and shot down by the curious hands of humans. The majority though will be free to fly as high as they like into the sky, happily matting and exploring new lands. As a naive child I was free to not fear being a butterfly, I longed with a burning desire for the day that I would be able to finally be a beautiful butterfly and get a chance to explore the world on my own- but experience caused me to lock myself in my cocoon where I remained helplessly terrified to exit for years. The world would tease me from my nest, shooting me images of open skies as I cowardly crouched in that cave, hiding my wings from the world and never revealing them to myself, but always driven restless by the curiosity of what my wings might look like. I would sit and stare, knocking back and forth between the lines of endless cocoons that hung from the meadows of trees. My favorite time of the day was when the evening rain would flood the air with its raging winds and electric thunder. This was when I saw some of the butterflies racing back to their cocoons, fighting the forces of nature, only to find that their cocoons were gone forever and they were stuck in the world with no shelter to shield them. I ignored the butterflies that happily danced in the rain, believing them to be mad and secretly miserable. During frightening storms was the only time when I would appreciate my hidden nest. I was shut out from the world, but I would feel safe, secure and therefore I sometimes managed to convince myself I was happy- but then… when I would wake and see the brilliant sunrise, my heart would fall from where it statically sat on the dusty shelf nailed into the deepest corners of my mind, hitting the floor and breaking into a million little pieces. In these moments I wanted nothing more then to flutter my wings in the warmth of the sun, the burning desire to experience the world was eating away at me. I grew tired of my fear and became astonished by the beauty I could see in the world from my nest, wanting to explore it more deeply, beginning to remember who I once was.

After years of hiding in the shelter of that womb, one day my lonely, tired eyes curiously peeked outside and saw a morning sunrise sparkling in light rain. I had never seen such a perfect wakening of the sun. It was sporadically painted with wild, vivid hues and I could vaguely hear the melody of morning birds as I watched them with envy flying freely in the sky. The rain that softly danced from the sky looked like falling vivid stars of gorgeous colors. Their wings were sails, carrying them into a sea of heaven. The aching of my folded, imprisoned limbs caused a moan to escape my throat, contrasting strongly against the beautiful song of the birds. I could not stand it anymore, I stuck a single wing from my cave and gasped as I saw that on it were patterns of purple, pink, blue, green, and every color I had admired as I restless shut myself in that cell for all of those years. I no longer wanted to hide in darkness, I wanted my wings to be a part of the rainbow that was the world. I wanted to see what other stunning things rested on the lands of the Earth. Then I remembered the person who I had once been, the child that had been fearless and inspirational to others. The child that people had said would someday make the world the beautiful place she believes it can be.

I felt my faith in myself ignite like a vicious flame. The fire could not be put out once it had erupted, too much dry wood had been piled up over the years. My heart began shouting to my head that my wings were as beautiful as the colors that skipped in the clouds outside, that their beauty could compare to any setting, that they would be found lovely by every other butterfly. My soul laughed, assuring me that it was not afraid of the rain that drizzled, splattering on the floor of grass-covered mud, because the rain was not permanent, it came and it went, always followed by a dry sky and a warm sun. So, I found myself leaping from the pits that were my eyes and extending my wings into winds that fluttered towards the dreams I had forgotten for so many years. I soared into the possibilities that were now paved before me on the road that is life. I was sick of being afraid, I had forgotten who I was, and then I remembered, wondering why I had not realized it the entire time. After years in that dreadful state I was able to see myself for who I am- a person with a heart so strong that my passion over time could slowly find a way to help the children, to help the world. I felt regret for all of the years I had wasted which could have been spent helping the poor instead of ignoring them, for all of the years I could have been spent understanding myself instead of sitting in dark shadows. I shook off the feeling though, reminding myself that I still had many years left in my life, years that could be spent being myself, following my dreams, and making the world a better place. I promised myself in that moment that I would spend the rest of my life never being anyone but myself and I would face every obstacle I had ever feared before I died.

 I’ve encountered many obstacles on this road. I’ve fallen and tripped on its cracks, scrapped my knees and seen blood pour from my cuts. Occasionally my wounds from walking down these swerving paths have caused my eyes to release tears from the extent of the pain- yet, more often I find myself smiling at the sight of the colors my body wears and awestruck by how they match so perfectly with the sky and the world resting underneath it. I’ve released laughter that sings from my mouth like music and my heart dances to this tune. I’ve lost those I’ve loved, a part of my heart always brought down with their corpses as they’re lowered into their graves- but I’ve also felt the warmth of love more strong then that of a raging sun, love that has risen me from the depths of those graves. I’ve encountered many other butterflies, many of whose wings I find even more beautiful then my own, but who always remind me that my wings are nevertheless special and unique in their own way. My eyes have seen dead streets with broken homes, but they’ve also rested on the colorful petals of flowers painting the grass of breath-taking meadows as these fresh blossoms dance shinning against the Earth like colored stars.

When it rains I’m cold, but my thoughts don’t sway on the shivers that the freezing air vibrates down my spine, because they rest in the excitement I feel upon the knowledge that I will soon be dried in the lovely warmth of the sun. When my heart feels fright from night’s dark curtains as they begin to cover the divinely lit image of the wild world, I close my eyes to escape the moment and instead choose to imagine what new sublime colors will sprout from the morning sunrise. When the sun lifts the moons curtains, a stunning scene is revealed that is composed of countless roads leading to every corner lying in this exciting world. Now, free from my cocoon, my favorite part of the day is when I wake and wonder which road I will take, smiling at the numerous possibilities that lie before me. My heart beats passionately as I dream of the many sights I can see, of the new butterflies I can meet.

Yes, fear blows against the fire of my heart, but it is only a fickle wind. My heart cannot be put out no matter how strong the wind of my fear blows against it, or how wet the air becomes from raging rain holding onto the terror tied to my past. When the sun floats above the waters and sparkles its rays amongst the clouds, I find that I eagerly rise with it, taking my time to decide on which road I wish to embark on. After I’ve made my decision, my heart tangos harmoniously in sync with my soul as my eager limbs carry me down my chosen road. Every road I have encountered has eventually led me to a steep mountain whose walls cannot be climbed easily. However, after vigorous effort, upon reaching the top of a mountain, I feel like I can accomplish any obstacle that life wishes to throw at me, I find that I’m on top of the world and when I look down, I feel myself become a part of every blade of grass that grows below me.

After reaching the top of every mountain, I cry tears of happiness that wash away my mistakes made in the past, I let go of regret and I smile as my eyes watch the endless horizon where infinite possibilities lie. I shout to the poor children who deserve much more in life, believing that miracles are carrying my shouts to the roads they stand on thousands of miles away. I vow to them that while I’m following my hearts burning desires and climbing to the top of every mountain I can find, I’ll spend this time thinking of different solutions, my faith only growing more strong with each step I take. I’ll do everything I can to come up with away to help them. I’m not God and I cannot change the world by myself, but I can try my hardest, letting those whom need aid know that there are people who care about them, that they’re not alone in the world. I can give them hope that one day there will be enough of us who care to fight for them. I can make them see that someday the winds will erupt in currents of mighty strength that will finally be able to knock down those city walls.

I see the day dancing in my dreams, the day when the walls come down and the shadows they once cast over the streets will vanish, giving every seed planted in the ground a fair chance to grow. The blossoming plants that once only felt the wetness of the rains water, slowly dying from the lack of sunlight, will feel the full strength of the sun’s happiness from this sight as it shines down harder then it ever thought it could, realizing the full potential of its rays for the first time. There are many things out there I have to discover, I have many lands to explore, I will feel much sadness that will try to drag me down, that will weigh on me as I climb Earth’s mountains, but I’ll strive more strongly from the strength that happiness will give me. There are many problems in this world to solve… but I have an eager heart which pumps with passion, a mind towering on a pedestal of faith, and free wings that let me fly. The part of me that shines the brightest though, the part of myself I am the most proud of, is my soul. It was trapped for so long that now it only longs to grow more, to not rest until the worlds a better place, to refuse to feel anything but as much as it can possibly feel before the sound of my hearts final pumps beat into the melody of a sweet farewell song I can be proud of.

This song that I will part from life to will sing the essence of my soul, it will sing my experiences, who I am, what I’ve learned and how I believe we can make the world the best it can possibly be. My lyrics will tell people to understand that making a difference starts with understanding who you are and accepting whoever that person may be, because your mind will never reach full potential if any part of it is being trapped; your thoughts will never discover new solutions to the worlds problems if you think the way everyone else does. Having faith that you can change the world will prove to be your best source of motivation. I want these singing words to roll off of my aged, tired tongue and cry to the world that you need to live your life without fear so you may encounter every different type of obstacle out there and learn how to defeat them. You need to be able to handle everything that gets throws your way and rise when you fall from failure. You need to rise to learn why you failed and go on with your faith as strong as ever, because only those who are strong will have the strength to knock down those walls.

The minds which are free will be able to figure out how to bring the walls crumbling to the ground, while the minds that are strong will be able to knock them down, but the people who will make the biggest difference, the people I know will be the ones to finally bring them down for good are those who have both a free and a strong mind. They are those with the most passion, they look to themselves for inspiration and strength. They’re able to remain optimistic in a world where many have given up on the idea of change. They think differently because they accept and understand the way their mind works, they understand themselves and know that they are the ones who will bring on this change, which is why they’ll never quit- they know that the world needs them. They are the ones who must inspire and encourage others, they are the stars that shine in the sky at night, the stars we reach for, they are the dreams we smiled at when we wake up in the morning.

When I lost myself, when I was not able to solve the problems life presented to me, when I abandoned my dreams and became weak, I longed for the world to change, but I lacked the ability to change it. Wanting change is not enough, change will only come when enough people refuse to see the world any other way, when enough people have hope, when the majority of the world’s population believes they will be the ones to change the world and refuse to see otherwise. We all have the potential to be one of these people. All it requires is letting your mind be free and strong so you can keep your faith and never lose it. If you have enough faith in the world, you’ll find ways to change it, because changing the world will become a part of who you are.

This is my song, the song of my soul. What gives me so much faith in the world? The fact that I have faith in myself and believe I will change it. My faith gives me dreams, and after having a burning desire to fulfill dreams for so long, we eventually find a way to do so. I want this song to be remembered when I die. I want it to stick its tune in the minds of others, to be sung loudly down streets and to remain playing in hearts forever, pumping with their beats wildly. I want it to be screamed from the top of every mountain people climb. I want it to be recalled upon when they fall, because you will fall. Failure is part of being human, but never should failure make you quit. Failure is a learning experience. I want my song to become the song of every soul. I refuse to part from this world until I know my song will do so, until my song is able to change the world. If this is not the tune that will succeed in igniting the change the world needs then I’ll keep looking for it. I’ll do so until I know that I’ll fade from this life with my body buried in soils that are nearing the day when every seed planted in the dirt has a chance to grow, blossom and feel their petals shine underneath a smiling sun. I won’t abandon the world until this is done, I simply can’t, my heart rests too deeply in it, I have too much faith in mankind to give up hope, and I see too much beauty to believe it can ever fade. My soul has become the change I wish to see, the change I will see and the change I hope you will become.

 

 


© 2010 cassandra violet



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Wow.. this story is so full of sadness.. it plucks at my heart and fills my eyes with tears.. The sad reality of life, is that we have just about anything we want, or need at our fingertips, and we squander, and waste.. thinking that we can just go by another.. Even those life sustaining commodities like food and water are taken for granted.. what would one do for a clean glass of drinking water.. I have seen these terrible things myself, first hand.. like a vacuum.. all hope was sucked from my veins and replaced with despair.. Your heart bears witness to the things that your eye would rather forget.. Thank you for putting life back into perspective for me.. as I was beginning to feel the crush of the coming holiday.. You have captured an emotion that needs to be seen first hand to understand the depth of it.. Well done

Posted 7 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

Nice metaphors, beautiful imagery, and colorful words. I don't really have anything to say other than there were several misspellings and grammar errors throughout the write. The biggest one was that you used "then" instead of "than" when you were trying to make a comparison. Other than that, the other ones were minor and nothing that I feel like trying to point out. But yeah, that's all I have to say. Good write.

Posted 7 Years Ago


Wow.. this story is so full of sadness.. it plucks at my heart and fills my eyes with tears.. The sad reality of life, is that we have just about anything we want, or need at our fingertips, and we squander, and waste.. thinking that we can just go by another.. Even those life sustaining commodities like food and water are taken for granted.. what would one do for a clean glass of drinking water.. I have seen these terrible things myself, first hand.. like a vacuum.. all hope was sucked from my veins and replaced with despair.. Your heart bears witness to the things that your eye would rather forget.. Thank you for putting life back into perspective for me.. as I was beginning to feel the crush of the coming holiday.. You have captured an emotion that needs to be seen first hand to understand the depth of it.. Well done

Posted 7 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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Added on November 25, 2010
Last Updated on November 25, 2010
Tags: life, narrative, poverty, social, spiritual, inspirational, hope, faith, love, humanity

Author

cassandra violet
cassandra violet

boston, MA



About
I hate this part. This is the part where I try to tell you who I am, what I've been and what I want with every single last milimeter of blood dancing in my veins to become- the person who my heart bea.. more..

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A Poem by cassandra violet