Memories of Past

Time is but a brutal eroder,
Eroding the memories, we hold.
Was the past real, I wonder.
Or were they just illusions untold?
Countless stood where I stand now,
But now have nothing else to say,
Their voices buried along with them,
As in the caskets, they lay.
What enigmatic lives did they live?
What were their lives long ago?
But nobody remains to tell the past,
Such wonder we might never know.
What is time but a repaint of the past,
The strokes of the present,
covering aeons old art.
The same passages taken day after day,
The same rooms where they used to stay.
Now are deserted and in ruins,
Nobody left to tell their stories today.
Replacing every part of Thesus,
Till nobody can tell apart.
Things you want to hold on to,
Slowly breaking apart.
The Universe plucking away the constants of my life,
As indifferent as it can be,
How can I be at peace with the past,
When it is at war with me.