Death

it’s a quiet thing,
death is.
because no matter how loud you scream
how hard you cry
or if you slip away on your own
everyone around you grasping at your life
that falls like sand through their fingers
time moves on.
and i still can’t quite understand
how you can go from being everything
made up of stardust
and the remains of galaxies
to being nothing at all
and still life
moves on.

Universe

She painted stars
On her fingertips
And waited
For someone
To hold on
Long enough
To discover
The universes
They held.