Sometimes I think everything
Is dying…death is life’s only real
Promise, missing nothing
A dead sparrow in the grass
A child felled by a stray bullet
A Ukrainian daughter in a mass grave
And your loved ones too
All the flowers in our gardens
More than these, words are dying
Words that call us to believe that “human”
Is a title worth earning
And images capturing our spiritual selves
Our feeble times cannot keep alive
The wisdom blowing across our graves
In the end death is the agent
That turns the flowers, birds
And all of us into particles
That are as close to eternity as it gets
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