Epilogue

The finest way to leave,

is to fade away, I think,
the slow death of all that has been,
once labeled, to outlive eternity.
A crown of auburn leaves and
a scepter of twigs is all what is left,
worn-out scents of a long-gone spring,
tarnished hues on a bland canvas.
Trading yesterdays, for the hours that trickle by,
to push a minute to the next, the urge to outlive,
what was taken out of today.
We live for the reasons that make tomorrow alright
and in the end, remember the only ones that matter.
The rest of it is just plain noise.
But coming to think about it, what else can we do?
After all the broken pieces and hangovers,
we say to ourselves, not ever again.
Yes, this is the last time I’ll let myself be
folded, creased and cast away,
with a touch of hopelessness.
Lives that break loose, days lived,
the things take away or give meaning to all that is.