A day into the next,
A month into the next,
A year, into the next.
Not half the man I was.
For the infinite possibility of who I could’ve been.
An empty thunder echoing the past.
Of broken bridges built to last.
I am just a fragment of who I was.
Push through the tides, each day.
And for what?
A 100 days of changing shades,
Yet one choice denied.
You can never go back in time.
Trying a 100 veils each day,
Which never feel the same.
Because the fire was elsewhere kept.
Where it through the night into morning wept.