I'm not alive, it's not a life
A living death, another lie.
Mourning mornings with eyelid tattoos,
Sketches of false desire and hope
Sleeping brings torturous dreams
Inescapable.
Solitude, regrets, a wish for things to change
A brand new past, a whole new life
Subtle joys, a mere curiosity of late
The shadows echo into only themselves,
Black water at the bottom of a well
Time proceeds with unending ebb
Flowing into oceans of misfortune
Waves of pace, constant, no relent
Time gathers a growing garden of weeds
Strangling any remaining will
Pulling it below the deceiving surface
Time exists with or without us
1 comment:
Time is but a place, for the past is behind us, the future before us, and time upon us.
We can only live in the here and now, but so many times do we try to live upon the lies of the past, and the dreams we create for the future.
Rarely do these dreams become true, and so we must live on what we know. If time weights us down perhaps we should forget about it and see what the future really holds for us.
Time is but a place, for the past is behind us, the future before us, and time upon us.
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