How the aging world mock,
The new as weak,
Whilst the old lay fallen,
On paths the young never seek,
Is it mystery when the thespians
Feels vacant and so weep,
To know they build kingdoms
But not a brick can they keep.
That everything held dear,
Shall be lost to those eyes;
Life won in the mud,
Now lost to the skies,
It’s the way of the world,
And every hour has her time,
The copper in the end,
Was gold in it’s prime.
Leave a Reply to PoeEternal Cancel reply