Solemn is there ever enough;
Often if it's good it flies.

Many waste and lack appreciation
Under the influence of it's present
Condition. Others,
However are aware of it's fleeting.

Where does it go?
Always running off to infinity,
So perhaps we're all
Tied by one binding,
Eccentric mind flying through the
Depths of rhyme.

Tarnished moments gone, for which
I can never regret enough.
Maybe I'll just do it later.
Eventually, but all the other stuff...