What is life?
A bed of roses or a pillow of thorns?
A slowy cascade or a speedy pool?
I love thy heart of gold,
Won't trade it for a soul of bronze,
The tint in your eyes when you gaze,
The softness of thy dark unkissed lips,
We are sitting on a time bomb.
Made out of our senses of ideals and opinions.
Not from diversity but from crave for dominance.
From love for individuality and self-centeredness.