Literary Yard

Search for meaning

By: Nikolaos Rousopulos

Time, that thief, creeps with silent steps,
Stealing the lightness of our youth.
Five years hence, what will be left
But the stark, unyielding truth?

The dread of aging, a constant reminder,
Presses down with no reprieve.
Our days once endless, now conflate
Into a dream we can’t believe.

The dream ends like a robbery our nightmare is the youth’s demise, not a gentle fade
But a theft, a robbery in the night.
Each moment passing, a parade
Of dreams lost to this coming blight.

Five years and desperation, a familiar friend,
Whispers of all that will never be.
The fist of time, it will not bend,
Nor set our weary spirits free.

In five years’ time, the mirror shows
Not the promise we once knew,
But the first death, the end of throes,
A future rendered in somber hue.

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