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Monday, March 9, 2015

What Matters In The End

As the dirt filters down through the fingers in hand
A setting sun glinting through this veil of particulate
Eventually it will run out
A hand can only hold so much

But then there was sound
And this is what it said

This is the dirt that we all come from
Oh the things we said that we'd do
With this dirt that was once you
Oh the times that you had and the memories spun

Like woven strands of glass from a high school art project
Someone had just discovered how to use a torch in class
Pulling with pliers and hooking with wires
Fragile loops all gentle arcs
Attempts at hearts that were missing their parts
It didn't end up winning any awards on parent's night
But grandma put it in her picture window anyways

Because you were loved
And it didn't matter that what you did sucked