poem

So fleeting is this thing called life, we journey toward its end,
experiencing pieces of a puzzle we don't truly comprehend.

The hues of our emotion paint a picture of our past,
as we hurtle toward a destiny that is not meant to last.

Youth a canvas all in white, not knowing what awaits,
feel caresses of a brush that which we know as fate.

Love so very true in reds, that beat within our heart,
shadows black take form as hate, which tears the soul apart.

Greens of joy and happiness, lush grass beyond compare,
sadness, shrouded depths of blue, the waters of despair.