You know you're reaching adult-hood when
you start attending funerals.
My chorus of homeless thoughts
struggle barely to breathe.
Does God liberate our souls
or forsake them?
We take comfort in ancient words as
our own words are useless.
In death, golden tea is poured over
memories happy and sad, your reflection at its clearest.
Luke-warm spirits surround us
turning time back.
Sips intake a being no more,
until the drops are gone, then you can rest.