Death from the eyes of a newborn

Such is the matter of the memories that won't be.
Where life, (Who knows or cares if it'll be a good a noble or an evil path of life) new life sees the old life about to dissapear.
And there is the photo that will never be taken, there is the memory the image for all the others in the room.

When death is close and future is present.
we all die we all life in such moment.

And nobody realize this enygma in the moment.

Nobody but me seeing between lines with my eyes elsewhere.

The memory is made the image dissapears in the movements of everyday.

And death fears not the eyes of a newborn, for it will conquer him as well

Someday

Someday