The trees are withered,
The ground now bare,
The world has lost it’s color;
It is what is not there,
It’s gone with all the others.
For it to be,
What it is not,
It mustn’t fade away;
It is what is besought,
It is not time nor day.
In endless time,
Without intent,
In search of this mysterious sight;
With or without consent,
It is written in black and white.
The rules are broken,
Words unheard,
Tears still flow in silence;
It is what is not absurd,
It is without defiance.
It is all that,
Determines all,
It cannot be controlled;
It is and will never fall,
It is what is resoled.
In the end,
It doesn’t rest,
It just begun it’s game;
In you’re life there is a test,
And that test is called, Fate.
