A man said, ten years will be spent,
whether you live or die
seasons change and waters dry,
some will arrive
and some will fly,
despite you laugh or cry.
Days will flip and flop
mindless of your presence,
time won't mind to stop
to pull you into the wagon.
There wont be time to reckon
the losses and the winnings,
to pack the broken remnants
of endings and beginnings.
The prospects will look surreal,
like shapes in summer haze
soon to catch a fire,
turning into blaze.
Memories will be weaker,
than tickling sensations
and dreams will turn brighter,
than brightest aspirations.