I opened that notebook again,
After ages I picked my pen.
Pressed strength on my wrist,
Gave my hand a gentle twist.

Scribbling through, I went on
In the world where ink lace spun.
But it was different from what I knew,
This ink was of a different hue.

And I flipped the pages back
A glimpse of me in the ink stained rack
The letters were bolder, deeper even
They held power higher than I now sustain.

And so I closed my notebook again,
It's ink wasn't in my own pen.
And I closed the lid once more
Let it sit where it was, before.

At 6 o'clock on a Friday, I saw her.
Through the window, blocks away.
To and fro in her wooden swing,
She showered my soul's dry bay.

No care for the world, she sat there
This window blocked half my sight
Though distant, her miniature figure,
Felt cradled in my sight.

The sunset glistens her hazel eyes,
They shine as she parts her hair.
Yet time stood still as I watched her there,
A fleeting dream caught in the air.

Great luck, I must have
For your gallery came in view.
There laid a similar face
That at dawn, my mirror drew.

I looked at every nook and cranny,
Even zoomed in the pitted dust.
By hook or crook, as they say
With every measure I must.

I saw no pictures there,
No proof of your presence at all.
Only your name echoed
In antique cups and dusty hall.

Yet I knew it was yours,
My devotion wasn't merely a cue.
Here I gloss at just your name
In this Gallery made for You

She stood in the field of Violets.
A distressed lady in war.
While others charged in the battlefront,
Only I noticed her, from afar.

She was enraged, with dreadful eyes,
Murmured words I didn't hear
A cluster of sunken syllables
Rose a song too hard to bear.

Forgiveness, O Damsel of Violet
Release me from these cries
Let me sing a song so dear
For those hazel eyes.

Trust me O Wrathful maiden,
No harm was ever planned.
Yet here I stand, entranced by you,
Still spellbound where I stand.

Oh, my days have gone back,
To the time I wore a sack.
Dusty, saggy—it was disgusting;
The threads holding it weren't so trusting.

The period long gone,
The chirpings I forgot—
All return, all anew,
Yet old, yet to be taught.

The sack still fits, though I've grown
In flesh and thought, yet not alone.
Its seams recall what I forget,
A stitched regret I haven’t met.

I tread the path I swore to shun,
A shadow walks where once I’d run.
It whispers truths I left behind—
Not cruel, just quietly unkind.

Do I resist? Or let it pass—
This mirror made of fractured glass?
For every step I try to flee,
The past keeps stitching into me.

My journey has come to an end,  
A halt in the life we comprehend.  
To death, my friend,  
A favor I wish to extend.  

I wish to live once again—  
Not too long; that would be a pain.  
Just one day, 24 hours to gain—  
That would be a fair bargain.  

"Just what would you achieve?  
What salvation could you receive?"

Don't ridicule me with lies.  
Forget hours—24 minutes would suffice.  
I would show you a life  
Where thousands of lives thrive.  

A life you've never seen,  
One whose end couldn't begin.  
I will show you life so serene,  
Not even found in the Elysian Green.  

So answer my pledge,  
Allow me to cross the ledge.  

Then I'd meet my weeping sweetheart,  
Relive every event before I depart.  
I'll meet my friends at the bar again,  
Encourage one to live, another to laugh,  
Help them cope with the pain.  

And a kiss to everyone I'd blow,  
For the love and care they show.  

Things I couldn't do, I'd do now.  
To nature's gift—my life—I'd bow.  
There's more I wish to say  
About how I'd live, even for another day.

I looked at death, my old friend,
My companion and guide to the end.  
A glare he passed, a query to send—  
"What if, one more day, your life I extend?"

"What could you achieve,
With the boon you receive?  
Or would you perceive it a curse—  
One more day to wander the earth?"  

What could I do?  
With time so few.  
Whom would I run to?  
Whose presence would ring true?  

Or shall I not go?  
Run, hide—silhouette in shadow?  
Then whose darkness would I reside in,  
Who would turn the death's tide in?  

You tell me to see,  
To live, love, and like a bird—flee.  
In 24 hours—"What could anyone ever be!?"
A lie, to those who truly see.  

My friend, listen to what I say.  
No closure could be found in one day.  
Don’t mock my answer—this is my way.  
Forget hours, even 24 years wouldn’t be enough to  Seize The Day!