Transience,
Could it be?
The world is a mystery to
You and me.
The love we see,
Is not so distant or near
As the eyes we believe.
Our brains work
Harder than our
Nine to five.
But life is not a number,
Except when you die.
But is it really a number?
Are you and I
Left with our own?
Could it be
Our numbers are different?
Or will they be the very same?
I wonder what the world thinks.
What a shame.
I hope what they remember
Is
My
Name.
I guess this is what they call
The
Waiting
Game.