The notebook of life is near the end
and still I bleed, everyday, a little
just to know that I'm alive.
A random collection of feelings,
a rainbow entwined in dark clouds,
the lilac memories of my sorrows
punctuated by yellow daisies,
getting all together for the final festival.
Old people will always be old
as young will always stay young,
that is the power of memories
when they fade into black & white.
Friends and family that become photos,
washed out by the hasty river of time.
Then nothing remains, only void lingers.
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