What if this was the last thing I said, if this was the last moment, the last thought.
Would I think of my birth, the life I bled or the friendships I’ve wrought?
Would I think of love? I think not.
Would everything flash before me, decades, years and days?
Would I realize I’m only a flower caught in the sun’s rays?
We’re life, in so many ways
A million traditions hallow their beginnings, what of their endings?
How many things in this life simply fade, with memory and time blending?
How few things have an abrupt, definable end, a rending?
Only life itself.
WE draw the line between breath,
Everything else mixes like light, all blending into white.