Like Feathers
centuries laterwhat would be left of us
a stone, a box, a pile of bones?
maybe the sun will still shine
and cast it's glories onto this earth
but if the sun
had wanted to die
nothing could stop the light from going
at that point
with life no more
our world wide catastrophes
ground into everyday problems
with just survival in want
to be able to breathe
all those we thought were important
that we cried, worried, fought over
how much do they matter now?
a life or a day
a world or a life
soon it'll all be nothing
including those things
that weigh like feathers
will, too, be gone
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