Where do we go when we die?
Is it truly the last goodbye?
Do we become stardust again,
Or the essence of rain?
Do we become wistful memories,
Or the sweetness behind pain?
Do we become the grey beneath the colour,
Or the winter behind summer?
Or is it the other way around?
Do we go to the places beyond the horizon,
And fill the gap between the moon and the sun?
Is it us behind that double rainbow,
Or hiding in that evanescent firefly glow?
Do we truly even die?
Is it truly the last goodbye?
Do we become stardust again,
Or the essence of rain?
Do we become wistful memories,
Or the sweetness behind pain?
Do we become the grey beneath the colour,
Or the winter behind summer?
Or is it the other way around?
Do we go to the places beyond the horizon,
And fill the gap between the moon and the sun?
Is it us behind that double rainbow,
Or hiding in that evanescent firefly glow?
Do we truly even die?
No comments:
Post a Comment