Scribblings.
Impracticalism,
with its effect of impending doom.
Lives are frail, naught,
in the eyes of an almighty.
I wonder if there's a guiding star tonight,
the one that leads me into light.
Then again, that vulnerability,
cuts off its only possibility.
Maybe the instrument that plays your life away,
could be a sad sonata sounding in the midst of the night.
That melancholy,
that bitterness,
may just die off in the twinkling of an eye.
Many bars of sympathy,
Cadences of gloom,
they all turned into
Indifference.
Maybe,
maybe,
maybe..
not.