The hands that spread warmth across you every time you hold them,
are going to lie cold in a grave someday.
Lush green meadows will turn into barren lands,
With brittle bones lying astray.
Love for somebody, unconditional and deep
Will someday, become a mere memory to reap.
The screeches of war will become muffled someday.
Blurred and almost forgotten will be the bloodied images of the fray.
Someday, a saint will turn into a sinner,
Paradise will turn into purgatory.
Thinking about this “someday” we spend each second of our present in worry.
Perpetually mulling over our state of oblivion.
Then again, we forget “someday” isn’t something in our power.
The only thing that is, is this day and this hour!
