Fading (poem)

The paints on the canvas aren’t as bright,
And the Scream seems to bear less fright.
Memory’s peaks and troughs are fading,
Lost in time as mementos pass from sight.

Trophies gathering dust collected from yesteryear,
I cannot remember why I used to hold them dear.
The glory and pride of winning is fading,
Like stationary trees receding to the rear.

The dark clouds that jet across the sky,
Are growing ever thinner as they fly.
Our troubles are forever fading,
Nothing can stop tomorrow’s high.

Theseus’s ship is being replaced piece by piece;
The crew is replenished regularly with ease.
The classic appears present but has long since faded,
An evolving vessel bears our dreams forward without cease.