Old Days

High is the humidity, Unpredictable like the economy. I watch the once grassland begone into the tummies of the rigid structures. Waiting for the rain. The world is quite fast Not wanting to take a rest. They said there would be rest, All I see are hamsters, Running the wheel of progression. Young and old alike. Wonderful were the days When the old brother played in the fields. The race of life has driven the wheel. Quiet is the silence,not wanting to acknowledge. All I see is,are the sins of the past. Regrets may have been lead to growth, Not the hearted gold. Words can be written, In the slate of the grave, Or in the notes of the piano. It isn't lonely when the reaper is here, But the vale of the rail. When the young lied, It broke the strings, None at fault,not at all. Laughters can be seen, If the check is played right. Value can be rewritten once the one is no longer. It can be a bit harsh To forget the beloved, The wheels are cog for the watch, Spinning forever and will be lost in time. Strings can be knitted, But not connected. It's not that much, To accept the deed And move on.