they bloom a thousand times
to cradle a body still warm with dreams.
Curled within the heart of petals,
she folds her life back
into its first, smallest shape.
No wind startles her.
No daylight calls her name.
It turns out the way home
needs neither night nor gravestone,
only a spring that arrives just in time.
We will all return, someday,
to where our souls belong—
not by falling,
only by lying down
a little earlier than the rest.
The flowers keep blooming.
The world keeps moving.
And she has already reached
the doorway
at the end of time.

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@Draco Dei
Calling it “sleep” was easier. I didn’t really have the heart to write “death” as a tag. :)
Odd to see that the artist (who ed themself) put a tag for sleep, when the poem is about death.
…what happened?