He spoke with a shallow tune, that voice of an old friend dreaming century long.
Those were the days when flowers cornered at the darkest future, betting wishes with dying color.
I still remembered his voice,
It flowed tragic, surfacing nostalgic stories to the sensitive ears and imaginative eyes.
Such intensity baring a warmth within the tide of loneliness only known to self.
But that shivering tone anchored to emotional tremor held the dreams of a suicidal mind so close to heaven.
There were choruses of memories beating pain into his voice.
Memories almost forgotten with phases,
So dearly bloodied with traces of passionate yet lifeless bonds.
It was a voice people remember to keep on believing.
A gentle kindness people experience,
Even when the hero was leaving.
Now, they finally pushed his body through the descent of climax.
Such scenario, burning so dry in the depth of my eyes.
You once said you have been disappointed, hurt, and gave up, how did you find forgiveness in all the mistakes. Journeyed through hopelessness, how did you create love out of those miseries?
You said you were still dreaming of people and peace,
Are you experiencing this moment with us right now?