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,

And stillness

Everything else mixes like light, all blending into white.