What if, beyond the great unknown of death,
there is nothing
but fragments of memories
flickering into place
like a flame just ignited,
memories of all the good times,
all the first kisses
and starry nights,
family gatherings
and the wind dancing through autumn leaves,
all the moments that filled your heart,
and all of those that shattered it just the same,
all the stupid fights
and good jokes
and fruitful meals,
all the common day sights
reframed in to odd familiar beauty
when juxtaposed against an eternal scarcity,
all the long drives,
anxious waits,
and books you never quite did get around to reading,
all the long nights
and early mornings,
all the conversations you'll never forget,
and all the passing words you wish you hadn't,
to each season of your life,
each phase, each desire, every dream,
all the people that molded you,
even the ones that linger in foggy memories now,
what if, when the heart is weak and the body
begins to wither,
when your bones succumb to
to the gravity of existence,
what if this is all there is,
blurring in some melancholic haze,
forever reverberating
against the weightless expanse
of the void always yearning?