We keep on going
for we are not really...

Ephemeral things
are burning so, in search of...

I picked the apple,
took a bite, crushed in between...

Last petal on a rose,
last rose on the season's bough...

At last
my bloom is withering...

Just a touch of death
is what sometimes bring us back...

The darkness in me
is as vacant as I am...

In the even scales
of fangs there are no mercy...

How heavy and how
impatient is the river...

Separation is
the only way we prevail...

Just for an aeon
I am left, in this moment...

Parallels are delusion
otherwise, roads were endless...