During the periods of stipulated flashbacks

Memories may not always be smooth or soothing

The pages of the wary calendars

Under the color of my melancholy ink

May not forget nor forgive the pain

Yet I would love to be alone again.

 

My heart will never burst into laughter

Nor will cry in rain

Flashbacks of the scenes may not survive

With all the clocks in my hand,

For they are the silent warriors

Dead, but fought in vain.

 

The next day is always so crucial

Fighting against all the odds

Yet the motion seldom walks along

With our dreams or feel at home in accord.

 

If you think you win or it is a defeat for me,

All the days are numb, crying silently

Morning brings nothing but wary nights

Passions grow old from everyday fights,

Let me put it straight for ages to come;

Not time but moments may matter to some.