As I grow older,
The heart grows colder:
The friends from my past
Did not really last.

The flames of youth
Are rendered moot.
Against bitter time,
I do not whine.

If as I grow,
I get to know
Everything dies,
I harbour no lies.

Death chips my heart,
Part by stony part;
And each sharp blow
Teaches to let go.

I have learnt well,
Walking through Hell,
That heaven is the same
With a different name.

And as grief goes,
With each smile,
I must let anger go
In the same style.