From the west comes a wind–perhaps the final one, so heavy with smoke is it. It is twilight.

  The dreams of long ago

  fade, my self dies.

  Each step, each breath comes heavier,

  the heart will never be bereft.

  My eyes blur, knees aches and...

  the mind slows–too soon!

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  I have not lived as my heart told me to.

  Dragon of dream, fantasy of life.

  The heart that tells me "live!"

  I have not followed–so long,

  for so long!

  Within the nausea of uncertainty, non-conviction, so my eyes die.

  In the passage of time, may every moment pass that we may live not forlornly or in regret, but let good trickle down for the rest of history.