I’ll lie down among the lantana
And slowly fade away
Kaleidoscopic florets bloom
And decorate my cold and gray
A call to passing butterflies
And weaverbirds that innovate
My dust might serve a purpose
Beyond my given fate
My bones to be forgotten
My flesh returned to earth
My words to not have mattered
My soul to lose its worth
As my final breath escapes me
To a strand of hope I’ll cling
That God might lend me a voice
And with celestial choir I’ll sing
About the Creator
Aaron Morrison
Mad Lib it:
Born during a (___natural disaster___), Aaron spends his free time exploring (___unusual location (plural) ___) and raising domesticated (___fictional creature (plural)___).
Author of Miscellany Farrago
insta: @theaaronmorrison
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Comments (1)
That's sad on an earthy-material sense but beautiful on a faith-based sense. It gives me hope that whatever my earthy purpose is, one day, it'll be recognized, even if that day is long after my last breath. Well done!!