We build our walls with names and plans,
with clocks that tick like tiny drums,
and dreams we polish daily,
as if time were a mirror,
and we could freeze our face
in its glass.
But the wind knows better.
It carries the scent of ash,
the sound of footsteps fading,
the soft impression of things that were
and are no longer.
We run, we build, we love,
we call it living,
but the truest life
is not in the running,
but in the stillness
that echoes,
You are here.
You are not alone.
You are part of the breath,
the fall, the fire, the fall.
Immortality isn’t a “forever”;
it’s a now so deep
its height so boundless,
a meeting and a connectedness
to reality,
a love so vast
it holds the end
like a cradle.
Let the walls fall.
Let the clocks break.
Let the heart beat
not for years,
but for this,
the sun on skin,
the laugh that cracks the sky,
the hand held in the dark,
knowing
we are not separate.
That is the immortality
we’ve been chasing
all along,
not to live forever,
but to live
fully, deeply, now.