You and I,
are like the sea and sky,
Meeting at the horizon.
Beautiful from afar,
Inseparable to the eye,
But so distant from nearby.
It was all fun and games,
We were carefree children,
Not knowing the complications,
Of the seemingly simple world.
Then we realised that dead Time
Could not be brought back to life,
Oh! The things we could have done,
The things we could have achieved.
But now we are old,
Not knowing when we shall depart,
Not having the time or courage to do what was once impossible only in our small brains.
Now we pay our respects to our 'utopic' lives,
In memoriam, in retrospect.
Be nice to your teachers they said,
For they can make your life heaven or hell.
But ours have made life like a garden,
Where by the hardwork of the gardeners,
And the sheer will and determination of the seeds,
Blooms a garden of fragrant flowers,
Each with it's own colour.
But some died before they could be acquainted with the sun and air,
They became a part of the soil,
The very foundation for those that bloomed.
Some said they were not meant for survival,
Only later did we realise that they were martyrs in a world of aspiring heroes.
I felt a void in my heart and brain in the same place where our memories were. It was like a pool collecting filth and scum and one day the drain plug was pulled. Now there's nothing to mention unless this pool be renovated. But what is the point of all that effort? What was has long passed us and even the memories are but fleeting images, making one question themselves if what they seem to recall was indeed their reality or just another figment of their beautiful and dangerous imagination.