During the periods of stipulated flashbacks
Memories may not always be smooth or soothing
The pages of the wary calendars
Under the color of my melancholy ink
May not forget nor forgive the pain
Yet I would love to be alone again.

My heart will never burst into laughter
Nor will cry in rain
Flashbacks of the scenes may not survive
With all the clocks in my hand,
For they are the silent warriors
Dead, but fought in vain.

The next day is always so crucial
Fighting against all the odds
Yet the motion seldom walks along
With our dreams or feel at home in accord.

If you think you win or it is a defeat for me,
All the days are numb, crying silently
Morning brings nothing but wary nights
Passions grow old from everyday fights,
Let me put it straight for ages to come;
Not time but moments may matter to some.