The face of the clock stands untouched,
It’s hands dutifully makes one round,
Over and over again,
Time marches on,
We rise, we sleep, we aged.
Over and over again.
One day, the face of the clock lies faced down
Its hands no longer moving, dead beyond repair
One day, we don’t rise anymore
Our body, dead and cold.
What then happen to our soul, our memories, our things we cling on to?
Must we be this ignorant to realize nothing stays forever?