The Memoriam
This day was the horoscope
The light, yes
My fathers’ day.
Hopeless
I cried hopeless.
Mr. Sickle owns him.
I only see things
Before.
When the times of his sunrise
He used to say, "lousy, small brat".
I don't mind. It's music to my ears.
Sometimes, rewards are prices
Of being a donkey
In the end.
Now, I begun to sigh these days
Remembrance are just sketches in the horizon
In my mind,
I'm now a man.
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