To keep warm and to be respectful
And during the procession there
Some will be strong
keeping
a silent look upon their face
During the funeral some will cry
Because they see life as all there is
But they are wrong
Wasting those tears collected
in handkerchiefs made of finest cotton
There is more, I cannot show them
I am only human
I cannot tell them, words alone cannot transform
I only know from knowing
That leaves me torn
There are cemeteries all across the horizon
The land is filled with bones
The ravens and crows fly above
The sky is dotted
But when I die I will not be missed long
Because little in this world matters
Little in this world is remembered
Dead flesh passes quickly
Words are forgotten
The only way in which we matter
Are the way in which we love
The way in which we care
We are temporal, and made of dust
The spirit is eternal
The flesh will die
It is rotten
Which will you trust?
Art credit Henri Rivière
“Not the power to remember, but its very opposite, the power to forget, is a necessary condition for our existence.” ― Sholem Asch
