Time does a lot.
It heals, it breaks, it mends, it interrupts,
but never to reciprocate.

Through the darkest hours,
The hollow streets become more apparent
and not only breaks,
but shatters me.
Hope are deemed to have unoccupied meaning
Hope has lost its vivid sanity.
Like the oceans, it drifts as the courage to believe
is never to near.

Though the glorious moment starts to wash away the pain,
soul refreshed, heart and mind to start wondering
where did the sorrow creeps in, and turn it
into something more beautiful,
never will I forget how dark hours existed
in me,
perhaps through me.

How mesmerized I am by the way it shaped me,
how the shatterings made me whole again.

And as time goes by, I believe its the shatters
that will make me whole again.