Reflection

She’s treading.

In this weave of sparkling
Laughter, we walk alongside,
Baiting disasters. When the silence
Was a melody that wanders
The soul of mortals, parched,
The company of a few
Bequethes the gloom with a spark.

On the side, it remains.

The cynicist in every word
The doubt in each smile,
The broken parts
Scorched with mellifluous
Words. Its the reflection
Caught between the present
And the fast.

The serenade.

Between the blurred images.
Seems, time still flows in and out.
The future remains, every so unclear.

Dear reader, Do you ever seems the whispers of the past wandering into the way you see percieve people? Does it change your outlook and sometimes brings out the cynicist in you? Memories somehow become a part of you, but do you think you can defy them when you make decisions for the future?