At the edge of breath
there is a quiet doorway—
no hinges,
no sound of opening.
We call it death,
as if naming it
could make it smaller.
But the river does not end
when it meets the sea.
It widens.
The flame does not vanish
when the candle is spent.
It becomes light uncontained.
What falls away
is only the frame,
the narrow room
we once believed was all.
Step through gently.
Nothing is lost.
The doorway was never a wall—
only a thinning of mist
revealing the vastness
that was always here.
No comments:
Post a Comment