same in the end

Its easy to express things in a beautiful way,
as long as you express what you see and you feel what you say,
but over time ones perspective may change,
the beauty once seen may grow old or decay,
or in a deeper connection,
one that dives deeper than flesh,
that once reason to wake up,
is now why you dream of your own sudden death,

What does this say about that original impression?
how did you find all those words that fit so well at that time?
Moreover,
how did those words fall victim to such violent regression?



looking back at those words,
can you still feel in your gut,
all of those wonderful feelings or the inspiration they painted?
or has this enigma called time left your memory tainted?
can you look at that subject and still feel that alive?
or have they left you so mangled that you don't dare try to feel anything inside?


what a long strange trip it has been,
was there really any point if everything is the same in the end?