I pray

We  are

Buried in a

Bed  of  roses

With holes above

Us to  feel  the wind

Sweep through graves

Whistling sweet stories of

Our life time and jokes  about

This unending fear of death

Just so we  laugh quietly

Because this little fear

of an internal end

Was only the

beginning.

IMG_3654

Doesn’t the idea of growing old with someone just make your heart melt?

*Pinterest Photo*

©aishaadamspoetry

Posted by:A'Isha Adams

The mind of a frantic poet. The ambition of an entrepreneur. And lastly, the heart of an old soul.

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