Like Apples

Our bones will be in museums one day,

your heart won’t always beat with rhythm.

Our stalls will house beautiful florals,

our hair will be used for a fledgling’s home.

Your skills won’t matter, just your wings.

Your skin will age with tree rings.

Your soul won’t age a day.


We can’t have everything with us,

but the ones we’ve touched.

the ones we’ve changed.


Our memories, our emotions,

our story  that

words can’t convey-

that is something…

it won’t cease to be-

you’ll live forever there.


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