We brush over beginnings,
But grasp them at the end
The ride itself is lost until
We slow ourselves again.
The essence of our stories
Are linear until
Loved ones take their final breath
And burning candles still.
Precious things and pointless
Birth lesions that won't mend
The thoughts through which we agonize
Take all our time to spend.
In silence, what is final
And all that's come to pass
Brings consciousness to what we are
When nothing good can last.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
We brush over beginnings,
But grasp them at the end
The ride itself is lost until
We slow ourselves again.
The essence of our stories
Are linear until
Loved ones take their final breath
And burning candles still.
Precious things and pointless
Birth lesions that won't mend
The thoughts through which we agonize
Take all our time to spend.
In silence, what is final
And all that's come to pass
Brings consciousness to what we are
When nothing good can last.
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