We are reminded
Of where we are headed
Despite the fact, that we can't help it.
Seasons change outside
Never to be the same,
Or to come back...
Like a tide.
Just trying to store
Some of the memories
Of my happy diary.
For there is nothing to be done.
Waiting for the next disaster to strike,
Or the next memory I can store,
Or....keep trying to forget
For the painting
Full of colors
That fate might have been planing
Sucked all the colors by a straw
Leaving it, as a 'pending file'.