Letter from beyond the grave

Death is somewhat like passing into memory;
an ivory cream rose
carved into the garden of one’s mind
why do you look so forlorn?
We live on as words that seek to pour themselves
into the liquid clay of the mold
leaving behind us two halves;
one that rests below the ground and other that remains
tucked away into the ribcage.
Do not moan, this world we live in is transient;
the cold wind blows as a reminder in one’s face.
The last vestiges of the setting sun
are disappearing
and along with it whatever is left of humanity
I implore you, be kind to each other!
Nothing is as piercing as the pain hidden in one’s soul;
sift through it,
pick out the parts that hurt the most and replace them
with soft whispers
what we do with our time here depends entirely upon us.

 

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Day Thirty ~ Bang, Whimper, Hiss

Skylover Wordlist: Deaths 💝

Posted for Play It Again @ Real Toads