Memories
Aug 24, 2017 · 1 min read

The truth could die
and goodness could
one day perish…
and the soul that was once shy
raise mountains of shame,
bath in disgrace and relish…
for every beginning… has an end
and everything come to finish
the lines we draw, the paint we dye
the dear ones we spoil and pettish…
every path must part,
every road splits to vanish
and the only beating heart
at the end of times
is the thought of those we cherish
