They say Death is destructive.
The way she steals, with slender fingers,
A fragment of your being
with every life she claims.
And though it feels like some particles of me
Have been left with the particles of you,
To descend alone into the dark,
I know it isn’t true.
You’re not buried any more than I.
You are more than a collection of atoms,
Rotting beneath the grave.
And intangible things, Death cannot touch.
What light you lit in your short life,
Lit cathedrals and palaces for me.
The stars that burn in brilliant orbs,
Is the beauty you want me to see.
The beauty you created cannot be destroyed,
No matter how hard she tries.
The light you lit will never go out,
For it glows in our own eyes.