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Old Customs Live on Drooping Limbs

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Old customs live on drooping limbs, dying.
Sickly colors replacing once lively,
While a new trend appears to stand living
The newer will on one day be deadly
Now death may come to the old much sooner
Time passes by, best to pay attention
Death still comes to the newer.
For life always travels in one direction.
To mimic ensures a long lived life
Society restricts our right to grow
To not conform condemned to the knife
Pure imitation is to never know

Everything ought to be worth a fight.

No matter the struggle, try and shine bright.





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