Once in a December
when the bodies we remember
grow colder
while living loving ones
grow older.

Skin folds with time passing.
Memories fade far away,
unless we ask our parents about the past.

I use verses and flows
to go where we know
these shadows still exist.

Flickering images
faltering under the weight of
all the loved one
we have lost,
barely lit by the candlestick
that drip and drips
losing itself
like little flecks of sand
falling out of a broken
hourglass.

I know all this will pass.
My memories
and the ones of me
will fall and fade to ash
as the world we know
is incinerated
by the fires of time.

We will not be
the red phoenix
of which children dreamed.

No resurrection
of rebirth
on this blue orb we call earth.

All that was, is dust,
and all that will be
will return there shortly.