I am
as old as...

Parallels are delusion
otherwise, roads were endless...

Just for an aeon
I am left, in this moment...

How heavy and how
impatient is the river...

The darkness in me
is as vacant as I am...

At last
my bloom is withering...

Last petal on a rose,
last rose on the season's bough...

I picked the apple,
took a bite, crushed in between...

Ephemeral things
are burning so, in search of...

We keep on going
for we are not really...

We appreciate
what we have had right after...

Time is heartless but
its claws are not as lengthened...