I sought to see the scattered seeds in the wake of my death.
From flesh to soil, stress to ease, as air no longer becomes breath.
Blood flows through rivers tangled, thoughts sink in oceans deep.
Heart beats as waves, tidal, tears become the skies that weep.
Bones to ashes, ashes to soil,
The vigor within, the roots that coil.
Blades of grass, towers of oak,
The whispers of wind, the words I spoke.
The nature of nature, dirt to dust,
Seasons change, but the earth is us.
The soul, the body. Life and Death.
True to time, Air becomes Breath.
