Pretending it wasn’t over, was not going to be much use, For, to feign forgetfulness, was not his cleverest ruse, The floods had stopped, but the wreckage remained, And everything around him, had forever been stained. Over time, even the
Tired of running this race, every single day, You wish, for a while, the time would just stay, Or atleast wish you had a stronger pair of legs, Ever thought, what a boon it is, to simply walk? Tired of
You know it not, by the darkness of night, You hear it not, so does its footstep fall, You hope you can see it in the brightness of day, So you sleep, hoping morning will solve it all. But the
He begins another day, fishing in the waters of his mind, He knows not, if that lost object he will ever again find, It will never repeat, even if only to again remind, Only its memory, a vague sketch, it
The next batch of them stepped out of the cave, The first steps they were taking out of the enclave, Everything went blank, outside, it was just blinding, So unprepared for things that were now emerging. Things they never heard