what is left,
when everything is gone?
when the ground collapses
like straw being swallowed by fire
and the sky no longer rises
on our soul?
where can so much love
from a single
possibly have to go,
when there is no body
left to carry it?
who will be left to remember
those things that were left to us,
by the people we loved?
is there any point at all – any meaning in this life –
that doesn’t involve the painful realization
that it’s all just here for a moment, like a dream?
our lives are a moment in time,
imprinted on the earth
like one swift footprint
in the dust,
before the wind stirs us up
and we are gone.
our bodies are destined to rust
slowly staining the earth red.
we hold on to precious items –
books, gifts, photos –
all in the hope that we won’t forget,
and maybe one day
someone will hold them
and remember us too.
we run our fingers down delicate book spines,
reading words from the past;
we remember the hope of the souls
who rust around us,
holding their gifts to us tight,
believing they will hold us to this earth just a little longer.
but before long, we too,
are due to be swiftly stirred into dust.
we stare into photographed eyes,
captured in a moment,
wishing for our own moments
to be remembered.
our hearts cave and crumble, knowing our lives are so unrecoverable.
we beg with death to allow us
just one more moment,
to say the things
we wish we had said;
share the things we wished we had shared;
kiss the lips we were never able to kiss.
when death comes for us, what do we have for him?
we bargain our way back to the living,
pleading to let those wishes and kisses be lived out.
what wishes do we really have,
deep in our heart,
knowing they’ll go to the grave?
what moments will we take with us
we rust, rust rust – oh how we rust –
the colour of leaves in the fall,
to creep into the lives
of those we leave behind.
the living think regret is for them –
but the dead
are just moments –