Sitting, reading those old desolated memories,
Different flowers, feathers, and scents emanating,
Readily nestling around the dichotomy of time,
Perusing, reflecting, through each fabric of mine,
“Are we fruition of our conscient intentions,
Or are we just some dancing marionettes?”
Albeit sitting still, the mind ran amok,
Dawning the memories, the future dusked upon,
Some unfinished memories, fallen like these petals,
Some beautiful possibilities, waiting for me to nestle,
Encompassing my choices, sitting at the confluence of time,
Perusing, reflecting, through each fabric of mine.
