My hands have grown bigger,
My outlook has grown dimmer.
Candlelight reflected on olive-black nails.
The clicking of my thoughts against my tongue caught in my throat
Have grown louder with every second hand twitch.
They've done it since my first breath.
I've grown too used to the sound.
I am dying quietly, so not to disturb the death itself.
Isn't that all things can do once they ripen?
I am hanging on to my prolonged return to my home amongst the decay.
I am the earth.
You are the earth.
Time measures nothing but return to the earth.
Gather your achievements, your memories faded gray,
Your love and your laugh in your lungs.
Breathe them into the veins of the plants
When your human clock strikes your human end.
Share This Poem