Immortality

We, as youths, think we're immortal sometimes.

Very often, in fact.

We forget we're doomed to die.
We forget that the world around us makes no effort in keeping us alive.
That everything we do is ink on our book.
We forget that we have an end somewhere.
Sometimes within our sight.

Yet sometimes our youthfulness blinds us from seeing our own end.

Sometimes we don't even stop
to think:
What's next?

Sometimes we don't even care
to think:
Where're we going?

Sometimes we don't even pause
to wonder:
Is there anywhere left to go

.


Very often we think
We are blooming roses.
So vibrant in color. So attractive in sight.
Sometimes we believe in the power of the rose
Sometimes we believe it to be immortal

All the time, we forget its color fades
sooner than we would like it to.

Are we fading away?

Are we aware of ourselves?

That we're not merely existing
That we're not immortals

That we cannot, for the life us,
tell what's two steps ahead of us.