As an year rushes by,
in the blink of an eye,
the songs that were played,
the words that prevailed,
the worthy and unworthy thoughts that were made,
all rushed in along with the year that fled...

what can we see?
the sun moon and sea?
or
what can we hear?
the birds, wind and the cheer?

Time flies,
along with lies,
nothing would remain,
except the pain,
or someones laughter,
or the cries of slaughter,
of the happiness within oneself,
with the brutality that hangs within our self.