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Priya Feb 2021
lives fade away like a passing shadow,
they dwindle to a memory
and leave behind more,
scarred by the wounds of time.

brief reminders of a once living past
slowly emerge through the shadows of grief.

moments of reflection
appear from the wealth of memories
a reminder of the battle lost to history

breath in the air of the new future,
take moments to realise it wont be the same,
the mistakes of the past remain unsettled
as time moves forward
whether you want it or not
time is a formidable force that shows no mercy, regardless of who begs for more
Priya Jan 2021
how do we know what happens next?
maybe a sleep we never wake from
or a sense of darkness.
an escape into nothingness.
the spirit that makes a life fade,
shows no mercy
and it shows no reason.
but as the time comes
it creeps up behind and leaves a print,
a body without life
a body that once lived.

is it a blue sky,
that falls over us,
and whispers the lie that life was.
the simulation ending,
and we are shown
the person we could have become.

do we rise up
and watch the lives from above,
the lives of the hurt,
the lives of those we lost.
do we see the grief stricken families
that mourn over our graves
a watchful eye,
over those who loved us most.

the unknown forever remains unknown,
with religion and teachings to guide some through,
giving perceptions of life after death.
but what about those who have no beliefs.
it’s up the minds eye,
the eye that knows only what it sees
the eye that can’t see the future.
Priya Feb 2021
time is precious,
a resource never truly valued
until it creeps up behind
and leaves nothing but a need for more.

the bitter wind bites
as the day melts away like a snowflake
falling onto the warm surface of human skin.

who knew this would be the outcome.
it left us with questions,
it brought us closer
but tore us apart
one by one
until there was no tears left to cry.

and one by one we were made to be happy

but we are fake happy,
we are breaking on the inside
and wanting the escape that tore us apart in the first place.
time doesn't heal the wounds that turn to scars

— The End —