A full stop exists only on paper.
And endings solely in stories.
Earth twirls on melodies that
Seconds play on strings.
The same old tune.
Again and again.
Who will dare write an epilogue for
This world's pages have long gone yellow
But then the author will be its only reader.
The song goes on,
With or without a rhythm,
Dreadfully awaiting the outro
That fades into silence.
But they sold us a default piece
This radio never had a pause key.
When everything doesn't,
Nothing still exists.
"Energy can neither be created
Nor destroyed"
On and on, rebirth and revival.
And we realise that death is only a word,
So who is to say that life isn't ?
YOU ARE READING
Handwritten
Poetry"Sometimes I wonder If this is how it's supposed to be Can I make a choice ? Or is it all meant to be?"...
