thoughts
I had time.
my father was a child
and now he's dying.
death makes us whole.
my son will one day
stay up trying to remember
where he's been, and
where I went.
old women forget .
swinging their arms
as they walk,
made of stars,
they regret nights
where they are.
decisions destroy us,
but death is forgiving.
death makes us whole, again.
time is deceptive, yet
we lend our mind to it-
counting the minutes we live.
I held love in my hands
without ever understanding-
the weight of stars is comparable
to that of a whisper (each
hurts when distant),
and each
exists within space-
like a shared
fear of uncertainty growing within a hole.
and death is the hole that makes us.
my father was a child
and now he's dying.
death makes us whole.
my son will one day
stay up trying to remember
where he's been, and
where I went.
old women forget .
swinging their arms
as they walk,
made of stars,
they regret nights
where they are.
decisions destroy us,
but death is forgiving.
death makes us whole, again.
time is deceptive, yet
we lend our mind to it-
counting the minutes we live.
I held love in my hands
without ever understanding-
the weight of stars is comparable
to that of a whisper (each
hurts when distant),
and each
exists within space-
like a shared
fear of uncertainty growing within a hole.
and death is the hole that makes us.
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