There will be death, sooner or later,

like a picture rested for a long time on a wall,

Waited to be adored or taken off,

managed long enough to be believed as it was a fall.

Wrinkling seconds won’t spare a moment,

to share the immunity to love,

Every now and then of past will disappears,

leaving no traces behind as a blooming clove.

How the shadows reveal truth,

from behind the curtains on the rail of doubt,

Tracing behind every mark, lead nowhere,

But to find oneself alone with battles of self-fought

Grounded soil beneath the lazy motives,

Opening doors without an unexpected answer

Lining the chaos throughout the journey,

Positioned and replaced the pictures within enhancers.

Plotting next lives in different deformity,

creasing a new outline of unimagined carcasses,

killing masses of dreams again,

to form new army of undead above the ground,

It is always on the edge of mortality that life’s profoundness is found.