My purpose in life is to write, and make people happy with my writing, including myself.

Honey, today is too far away,

I want you to kiss me yesterday.

"It's not possible" is all you can say.

But I know where there's a will there's a way.

You may not know that. Or... you may,

And all I will say is that, either way,

I want you to kiss me yesterday.

Bridges are burnt...

Bridges are laid...

Friendships are hurt.

Friendships are made.

Friends are good-bye'd

Friends are hey'd

You will get no'd, What'd and Woah'd

But won't it be worth it to be yes'd and ok'd

Goodnight'd, hello'd, and sure to be yo'd

Our lives are moved and day by day'd

The caring is measured...

The kindness is wieghed.

True Friends will always last.

But money will tear, rip, and fade.

Would you rather have love,

Or would you rather get paid?

Votes will be I'd

And votes will be Nay'd

But none of that will matter,

If a friendship is made.

The Watch

by Wesley Wallace

I was walking down the street. I guess because I like walking. I heard a CRACK! I looked down. I had stepped on a watch. The lens was cracked beyond repair but I might be able to salvage the other parts. I didn't seem to have anything to do, so I went home.

I stood at my kitchen counter inspecting the watch I had found. I turned the dial counterclockwise to see if it still worked. The lens had magically come back together, fixing itself. Startled at the sight of such an impossible rejuvenation, I looked up from the watch to my kitchen, only to see that I was standing on a sidewalk. In fact, the very sidewalk where I had found the watch, about thirty feet away from the spot where I had originally found it, twenty minutes ago. Apparently I had gone back in time to before I found the watch. So I hadn't stepped on it yet, which is why it was no longer broken.

But how could it be in my hand if I hadn't found it yet?

Not knowing what else to do, I walked. I thought about all the incredible things I could do with a watch that could alter time. I started to cross an intersection, but I was so transfixed with the watch that I wasn't paying attention to the traffic. I didn't notice a pickup truck fly by, just inches away form me. I didn't even notice a towering semi-truck speeding straight towards me. When I did notice, it was too late to move.

I awoke in a hospital bed. My left arm, left hand, my legs, and my neck were in casts. My wallet, some pocket change, and other various things lay on the table beside me, along with a very familiar watch. I didn't remember where the watch came from, but it was familiar. My head ached. In this condition, how could I could I ever be happy again? Then it hit me: The watch! I could go back to a time before I had got hit by the truck. I grabbed the watch clumsily with my unbroken hand but winced with pain. My fingers were not functioning properly and the watch fell out of my hand, but not before I managed to turn the dial, though a little more than I wanted to.

I was walking down the street. I didn't know how I got there. I guess because I like walking. I hadn't walked far before CRACK! I had stepped on something. It was a watch. The lens was cracked beyond repair but I might be able to salvage the other parts. I didn't seem to have anything to do, so I went home.

There Is A Thumbprint On My Watch.

I relaxed into the comfortable chair, and (almost instinctively) raised my left wrist into the air to see what time it was on my precisely timed watch.

"There is a thumbprint on my watch. Oh, my perfect watch, with a giant thumbprint in the middle on the glass. Whose thumbprint is it? Is it mine? It doesn't look like mine. Besides, why would I put a thumbprint on my own watch? This is ludicrous. All I wanted to do was observe the proper time on my prized timepiece, and this is what happens to me. I'm a victim of someone's sick, spiteful joke. How could this happen to such an upstanding citizen as myself?! I'm an avid attendee of my neighborhood's book club, for crying out loud! How could such a thing happen?!"

The women in the chair across from mine looked at me suspiciously, "Marvin, calm down, it's not that bad."

"Not that bad? Look at my watch! Is it your thumbprint?! You did it, didn't you?"

"No Marvin, it wasn't me. Look, I'm sorry, but it's been two hours, our session is over." She said with an unchanging expression of calmness.

"I might of known it was over, had my watch not been vandalized!" I exclaimed, and then I stood up, "I'll leave then."

"Where are you going, Marvin?"

"To get a new watch." I mumbled as I left the psychiatry clinic.

I really wished she wouldn't have put her thumbprint on my watch.

ODE TO A GOLDFISH

 

By Wesley Wallace

 

Ah, the majestic goldfish, floating gracefully in its natural environment: The Fish Tank. Oh, how long must I wait, staring at your humble aquatic dwelling, until the day I can swim with you? What must I do to become one with your perfect beauty? How will I transform, more than just my SOUL, into the precious form of that wondrous gold creature, which I behold?

My friend. My teacher.

Be it by magic, or by science? For if it is by science, I fear I may become, not a goldfish, but a sick doctor's horrid abomination. A Frankenfish, if you will.

But if it by magic, I can hope to be rid of my earthly, mortal body that is but merely silver. By magic I can be more than silver. By magic I can be gold. By magic I can have hope. By magic I can be immortal, for even when they die, goldfish remain in the hearts of their admirers and loved ones for ever.

How then, would I swim, if by science and magic, both, I attempted transfiguration?

Who knows, I may even be granted more than a 3 second long attention span. Oh, by the love of the sweet goldfish, I may become yet, what most would behold as pure happiness in fishy form.

And I thank you goldfish, perpetually.                ...END

What is the easiest way for me to beocme happy? Reading, writing, talking to people, or, as shown in the picture, what really enlightens me, is photo-editing.

I keep myself busy by trying to come up with ways to keep myself busy. It's my own downfall, I never get anything done.

Victory?

By Wesley Wallace

High above, on a dark castle tower,
Stands a villain, of such evil power,
That he orders his villagers, by the hour,
To be beaten, just to see them cower.

He is their King. He is their Master.
They will obey him and his violence,
Even as he orders they be beat faster.
And those complaining, do it in silence.

Yet, a courageous army, from afar,
Knows not a single villager's thought.
And thinks freedom, will heal their scar,
When it will really leave many distraught.

The Army would think, and plan by night,
And march and chant, during the day
They would look for a fight to fight.
And all the while you could hear them say

"Aye, our VICTORY is at hand!
The time has come, at last.
To MARCH our flag across their land.
And remove the shadow cast!"

They found the village. War was waged.
They scorched the land with fire and flame.
They won before the battle was even engaged
They left and you could hear them exclaim

"We came, and we brought the pain.
We went, and we left them sorrow."
And though they cut away their chain,
Villagers mourned far past the morrow.

Well, the army had slain the evil king.
And many villagers, for good measure.
But they left the village with out many a thing,
Including a ruler, joy, love, or pleasure.

Without organization, the town fell apart,
And everyone soon, sadly, perished-o
The Army was courageous, but had no heart.
Was there nothing that THEY have never cherished-o?

And what was more, (yes there's more),
Is that they thought they had helped
Even as they waged horrible war,
and as the villagers screamed and yelped.