B.B. Loring (October 24,1995 / Maine, United States)
Beluga Whales Through Glass
I've thought of dying,
Of what dying may be like;
This is not new;
I've come to a conclusion;
To believe it is like the rain,
And when it rains;
The water on the leaves get
too heavy for them to hold
and all at once, the water rolls off,
Sounding like a little waterfall
This must be much like dying
Our body not strong enough
To hold up the life it has
so it decides to let go of life;
All at once
But then, where is the waterfall?
Is it the sound of life falling;
heard inside the dying mind
while the life is fleeing?
Or could it be the sound of our memories
playing fast in succession?
Will I see my first memory again,
the beluga whales through glass;
tiny fingerprints, grandfather's laugh?
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