I pray
We are
Buried in a
Bed of roses
With holes above
Us to feel the wind
Sweep through graves
Whistling sweet stories of
Our life time and jokes about
This unending fear of death
Just so we laugh quietly
Because this little fear
of an internal end
Was only the
beginning.
Doesn’t the idea of growing old with someone just make your heart melt?
*Pinterest Photo*
©aishaadamspoetry
Seeds Before Water 