I feel like a traveling soul,
Living this half-empty life with a misty smell,
Of the past or the future following.

Chasing the half-full memories,
Mourning the unremembered past and the everlasting future.

Hearing the laughs from the other room,
Every time I tie my shoes,
Running to chase, God knows what.

Seeing time as sunbeams hit the free dust in the air,
Clicks of the open window,
Squeaking tiles in the throne room.

As I write my poem with mold,
Painting while the soulless ink drips from my pen,
Singing the puzzling history,
Will it ever be solved?

If death loses its meaning,
How can life remain any?
Claps,
Raindrops,
That one last note of that song…