Life is what you make it. It isn't something that is just handed to you. You have to work at it and make it something wonderful.

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Whispers in the dark

turn into faded dreams,

and silent wings.

Light shows the eyes,

what the eyes want to see,

the dark shows the heart

what is meant to be.

Tears that fall,

like flower petals in the storm,

remind us of the sickly form.

Cries of sadness fill the air,

for a life that is no longer there.

So whaddya think? I just started with random stuff, but it turned into a poem for my grandfather who passed away with lung cancer. RIP