Open your hand, open your palm to show me the land where seeds can root and fruit to trees from which it was bear, and there you will turn to dust, blown back to infinity for you can't enjoy the fruit, but your children can, the outside is to harsh for life, they need roofs for heads, to rest in beds, and they'll build it all by hand then, beyond they go to join you in infinity, the fruit and roofs left for your grand babies, you see the cycle, no matter what you do or how far in life you go, you go back to the ground from which you did come, and sprout new life, for the new life to look around at in enjoyment, what a joyous thing, for in death is life for other things, and in life for others is the continuing of fruits.

This poem is about: 
Our world


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741