In where would skies rive?
I am ardent to behold...

Life is a disease
that we must recover from...

One cannot fathom
things that are too obvious...

You are speaking and
bubbles spring out of your mouth...

Time is heartless but
its claws are not as lengthened...

We appreciate
what we have had right after...

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...