Life at this moment seems to be a forest. Not one of those fairytale forests, no, a forest where the trees shade all that is underneath. In this forest are many different organisms, living and dead. As humans we come together, we converge, and we claim to take over all of the forest. We act as the mighty monarchs, hanging our well-fed cheeks over all we see. Monarchs flutter their wings never knowing that we are claiming to be as beautiful as them; the butterflies that instill emotion and recite beautiful music with pattered wings, we are too blind to see that they are more beautiful. They speak only loud enough for their own ears, and maybe that of a neighbor. Humans, unfortunately, speak in outspoken cries. We complain of all that is around. Climb a hill once in a while, turn your head and you will see a marvelous sight; we overlook the mountains, the grasslands, the tundra, how can we claim ownership over God's creations? We are merely pieces in a much more grand creation, puzzle pieces if you may. The grandour of such creations is profound. Our whispers turn to shouts as the underspoken man becomes the same that holds the answer. The crowd around muffles his speech and he remains mute. The whole world around that one man is deaf, dumb, and blind. There is no way for the truth-seeker to truly find truth, mainly because the truth was buried. Six feet under lies that which we kill to find, too bad we killed all we love way too long ago. Now, I find that as I walk through this wonderful forest, dark though it may be, there is beauty in simplicity. The elegant silver lining spoken of in fables is truly present. It cranes its neck every once in a while from some inconspicuous nook or cranny, only visible to the observant eye. I, myself, and a few select people get the label of insane, lost, or lazy; in reality we are the artists, the very fabric of this area. The fabric we hold together is the very fabric the rest of the world is attempting to unstitch. The select few people that choose to dream, that choose to chase and remain passionate, those are the ones that hold us together. These people are our Atlas, life is their stone. I am proud to be labeled as lost or lazy or insane or dumb or any number of other things, if that is what it takes to make dreams a reality, to make our forest stay strong as the world plays with matches. I am proud to be that cigarette held in Venus's fingers, the lightning bolt making its mark upon the sand. So please, I beg of you, stand with me, and do not succumb to labels. Please, keep heart. This is more of a promise to myself, or yourself, not a call to action. A promise worth keeping. Now the only question is, do you dare to make a promise and keep it?