Withered Flowers

I was standing before a bouquet

Left on your grave by some unknown good soul

A long time ago, I must say

For the flowers had withered already

To the point of becoming thus brittle

Almost dust

I was standing before your grave

When a truth struck me as an epiphany

Death never happens once but twice

We all die, that's inevitable, we all do

We all die, however, not once but twice

Two deaths, inevitably two deaths

The first death you know about it already

It has been yours for a long time now

But alas, it's not the definitive one

Oblivion is the definitive death

As inevitable as the first one

It has happened to you

It will happen to me, to them, to most, to all

Sooner than later, we will all be forgotten

I'll never forget you; I promised you on your deathbed

Oh, you'll forget me three times before the rooster crows, you whispered

People move in haste through the hastiness of life

While your body merges with the stone

And the stone gets the texture of dust

And then nothing, irreversibly nothing

Yet, there is rhythm in death

Like a bell's sorrowful tolling

Layers of earth

Layers of time

Layers of oblivion

The world moves on, and people step forward

Oblivious of whatever step you once started

And so, every year that goes by is a silent farewell

Death is so innocently cruel and yet so inevitably necessary

And it's always too soon. Too soon, death comes

To rescue us from whatever there is

So innocent and cruel, so evitable and unnecessary

I was standing before your grave

And I cried, for ingratitude brings tears

To one and the other, sooner than later

I'm so guilty, I cried

I, who once upon a time was guilty of nothing

I, who once upon a time, cried in your arms.