A cure is what they wait for.
Like stones standing firm.
Oceans, they push them to shores.
No waters can wash their tears.
Even when they drench every pore.
(The Stories beneath the eyes)
One day you die, then,
The Heaven and the Hell are the one to speak
and others then decide, you to keep.
Sleeping trees they will be there and share.
In Silence, they will stay in wait.
Chirping will not stop.
One should not fall,
when feelings fade in no sun.
For some in dark.
The Golden Sun.
Warming from the cold.
None replace such a blessing,
None holds the right,
to dim the lights
and darken the paths
when no sun
warms those bright smiling hearts.
(The Stories beneath the eyes.)