Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

The pain of not looking past throughout the echoes of time.
Only to dream of a world what has been long forgotten.
Yet, the fates tug at the ball of twine which is my soul.
What mystery it holds for me, I can not be assured.
All I see is a blank slate seemingly undisturbed.
For we walk the halls of the inner-workings of our mind.
Only to find inner struggles beyond most of the depths of our remaining time.