Time's Servant

The stomach is empty, but the mind is full. Time's servant serving me memories, some a tear, some a sigh, but all of them are ache.

To my right, there should be a man of steel, time's toughest enemy, and fate's most stubborn disciple, my father.

To my left, there should be a woman of love, God's prettiest flower and angels' ilk on earth, my mother.

And sitting right in front of me, there should be a man of dreams, my father's successful man and my mother's married child, the man of her grandchildren, the better version of me.

The most fascinating part of this is that if this small table would be filled with them and me, I would be the ghost, and they won't actually talk to me, as there's nothing for me, or of me to be said.

As the memories flash, hopes clash, futures dash, tears splash, dreams gash, pains lash,

I, to the floor, crash.

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