Weary eyes are unsurprising,
dull but in a waking state,
uncertain, towards vast illusions,
nonchalant, holding on to dead memories.
A modest soul decorated colorfully,
gaily but embattled, uncertain flamboyant,
marking the senses, only live once,
have grown enough darkly, where is the light?
Will my dying soul ended up here,
on a vast space of empty dreams,
nothing but timid rocks afloat,
in an emotionless motion of dead span!