Common Cycles

Future fades to past

rushing by so fast.

Moments flicker…

Memories will always last.

Quiet echoing voices

transform to screaming noises.

Dreams are like exquisite glass,

if through the fingers they were to pass,

to the floor they would violently clatter

and into a million shards tragically shatter.

Before the rose can finish her glorious bloom

her stature changes to that of gloom…

Wilting petals forfeit their stance.

To the cold ground 

they sadly

dance.