We are promised decades,
The ''forever'' we all wish for,
Everyday, we await for tomorrow,
We expect endless time,
We expect life to just go on forever,
But our expectations are not the truth,
Nor can we change it.
We are born under the sun,
And it is terrifying,
But everything under the sun,
Has a beginning,
And an end,
So one day,
We will all, end.
With stories still left to tell.
YOU ARE READING
The lost art of Words.
Poetry"But none of these options were in my story, A story which dried up my heart from hope" What does it take to live with a vision full of words. what is it like to be knotted up in your own dreams? POETRY ALERT!!
