Very soon,

We will live,

In the future.

Things change,

Children grow.

We will be wrinkled.

Cars will fly,

Ants will rule.

Grey garbs everywhere,

Mind and matter,

No battles there.

Laughter will be chaotic,

Extraterrestrials far away.

In the summertime,

Butterflies will be chased.



Something that he had forgotten,

It was uttered in disorientation.

It was etched,

Upon his very being.

Still lived,

After eons in his mind.

Hiding the loss,

Smiling at guilt.

That white line,

He breathed in,

Happiness, still remained,