The transition is...
So simple.
So slight.
So precise.
Existence flowed and stitched.
Then as pieces placed back together,
The shattered flesh, splinters across the floor.
And washes life away from prying eyes.
For this world was no place.
Nor had no place not made for you.
That I by hand and fragmented mind,
Molded--to sooth this broken heart.
Now saying grace among the silent,
For death is served at my table.
Our heart blossoms and sour so abruptly. As empty as it began-
ReplyDeletea cacophony of failures.
If the soul is a desert, the flesh must be an ocean. We cannot swim fast enough.