RIP
R.I.P.
Should I even say this?
R.I.P
Do you really want me to spell it out?
Like the literal REST IN PEACE?!
Reaching for ink, this feels like a seal of accepting how real this is.
These imaginations of a field untilled, with scattered papers; blank with stories waiting to be told, yet the heart growing cold.
Death's but a pause, a break, a different kind of rest; the sleep we dread!
It's like a closed book, hidden from this noise called life, where every word within are but secrets its deep sleep keeps.
R.I.P
Return If Possible.
Don't let your thunder shiver out of cold, while these blank pages are eager for your rebirth.
R.I.P
Return If Possible
Though, it's dark, but your dark is kind of bright.
Let it breakforth.
R.I.P
Return If Possible.
Some vacuums are unworthy, unnecessary, un...
While I wait for this silence to end, and this quiet to lose its claim,
I will stand on this field, and where the river bends,
I will stand and wait till you're washed up again, to this side of life, where the ink makes everything beautiful.
But till then,
R.I.P
Return If Possible
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