When our life is measured in years,
telling us the end may be near.
As what we dearly esteem, fades away
as time incessantly wears.
Perhaps always pleasure, but pains no less
Keeping faith with hopes here and there,
Yet time still speaks in silence,
Whispers away; falls of the Legend.
Should eternity abounds us like a fence.
when before our Maker, we stand.
Even while in the face of wailing passions.
Poetry writing becomes an end!