We’ve always known—at least in one part of the brain—
but we are tempted to despair.
When that last breath hovers soft on the air, the passing life feels
more real somehow than just belief—but
at the same time like losing vision in strong light,
edges fading into luminescence with the sun’s set.
And it’s fleeting this dream we have lived.
We’ve always known it would end, but why did we live as if it would not,
putting off the greater for the moment
of the lesser.
And the fleeting mists gather for a last exhale,
an exhale of all the things we still cling to, a final surrender to the everlasting.
This was our once far-off hope, even a fearful hope;
and now it’s here. Really real.
And the fleeting gives way to the endless, and it only hurts for those still left behind.
I Corinthians 15: 40-…
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