Days may pass,
But alas,
They are never meant to be.
The only
Breath of air
Is the one we ourselves create.
Anarchy may create,
And cry out.
And the words of others may try,
But never will they pry,
The grips we hold.
So tight and fitting,
The words on a page shall always open
Our thoughts,
Our minds,
Our moods,
And our hearts.
Because we are us.
And the life of me,
Is not yours,
Nor his,
Nor hers,
Always
And
Forever.
But we shall always see
What makes you and I,
Us
And Him,
He.