Irrevocably

Your body wrinkles into green dust as each passing anxious moment recoils your spirit. And in your home, you wilt like wildflowers. I ponder a simple life. I ponder. I ponder a simple life. I ponder and note what could have been. No word in my ancestral tongue can describe the calmness of withering age. But through simple lives, we feel it on every nerve ending. And in every way, you were a garden of empyrean light. A blinding bed of flowers, indescribable. A binding of sorts, twisted by roots and bare hands. I find it irrevocably calming. I can feel age wither me into wrinkles. The summer clouds remind me of where home used to be. And I wither into dirt, but I'll be resting at last. I still feel joy. I still feel joy. Even against the ambience, I still feel joy.