The day seems so secure
Simple and nothing obscure
Desiring that of new
But reality is truths dejavu
Time proceeds as we recur
Our clock ticks like a deathly blur
Foreshadowed by our inner selves
Like forgotten pictures resting on dusty shelves
Existing only to memories we drift
Like the wind our essence swift
We; grains of sand to the earth
Born to death, vain to rebirth
With the trivial I cope
Because tomorrow may be hope
