I've been writing everyday, but just have not had time to type up my poems! Hope everyone is have a great long weekend.
Metamorphosis
Metamorphosis
When we die the light does not go out,
the world keeps moving, nothing stops for us
we leave our parts behind, sluff off our bodies
like old clothes, we become nothings, whispers, breath;
blown soft as cotton wood, the tufts of dandelion seeds,
motes of dust floating in a sun beam.
We become the dark matter that surrounds the living,
as invisible as the heaviness of gravity
we appear as phosphenes when someone closes their eyes
from the brightness of the sun, a moment of trust
that the world will be still there when they open them again.
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