On the lonely pages of memories,
I write with the ink of passing time...
As each page flips revealing more chapters,
That are yet to be completed.


The glitters of each tear, stained on many pages,
Portraying the images and scenes,
And telling the stories that were hidden & left untold,
As the pen bleeds upon the pages.


The inks are painted and can never be wiped,
As the words flow like the tears,
Each stroke relays the emotions,
Like a grief on parade.


But when the tears are gone the ink remains,
To tell the story of the miseries of man,
The sorrow kept within for years,
The abyss entangled in the hole of hell.

...