Symphony in the Graveyard

?A master in death?bed, his skin worn down with the wrinkles. His lips quiver and words were so weaned. He looked down to the eyes of his protégé and uttered his last words.?A symphony to the souls yet to be born, a firm rhapsody of wisdom for the new gen yet to embark the journey-LIFE

Oh young;

Of the dawn that belongs to the world yet to build,?

Of the morning that yet to be break,

Of the track that yet to be raced,

All Youngs that yet to be born?

Heed my voice.?

The voice belongs to the man that failed to create a signature in this world;?

And I have wasted my time here?

And getting ready to depart from this very earth with a heart that outweighed by remorse than the contentment,

Like a field that not has been ploughed,?

Like canvas that not has been painted,?

Like a listless carpenter who doesn't shape his wood.

I have squandered my days aforesaid,?

Now I have to request to the young souls that yet to be born,

To say all the things what I couldn't say,?

To do all the deeds what I couldn't do?

And do me a favor; please do forget me in prompt,

As I haven't made signature for the world to remember me.?

And do not play a symphony in my graveyard.?

#future