Insignificant Memories

While the silent stream of sweet passers-by
Quickly drifts to what seems to be no end;
The life of a little one is gone in a blink.
Though those that are dead re-live.

The fretting of the board is terribly pursuable
Whether you roll your dice correctly;
Or you leave it at it's stance
To use on the next play.

Why is it that everything is so slow,
While it can be gone, so quickly?
Redundant as it may be, I still want my life,
And I am terribly sure you'd like to keep yours.

Pity. The minds of the imbiciles.
How can one be so gleeful, yet, so oblivious?
Oh to be one of those simple minds,
To be free of the world who haven't a clue you're there.

Though the ink of my pen grows drill,
and the silent of the night is waning;
Sure to cause my attention to go elsewhere,
I leave you with one thought, dearly beloved.

Why make it one's appeal to be something you aren't,
When you can be yourself, and still know who you are?
I tell you now friends, I've lived the life of the pretenders,
and all I have now is to fade away.