Unfulfilled Dream

She never throws anything.
Even her railway tickets...
The smell is the same.
But it’s dustier.
Time will heal everything,
but, if the time is the disease.
There is always a beginning and an end.
I must not cry, no way to cry.
No more thinking, just being there.
I will wait for a photo.
That will be a face of new.
I am curious because I knew a little.
Where are my heroes?
Where are my kins?
Where is the angel of poetry?
All who cares dies early.
Each street ends its boarder lines.
World seems to sink in darkness.
May be the trouble of today is future.