Where do people go,
after they go forever?
To the heavens above
to meet the ones gone before?
Or do they turn into dust,
a part of the universe,
to stay only in memories,
in dreams and stories,
until those who remember
also come to pass?
It seems so much in vain,
to live and just disappear,
like the countless before
and all those here.
Yet that is the only story,
told over and over again.
No matter what we do;
No matter what we say.
We are just specks of dust,
granted a glorious time,
to live and love a little while,
and then become a memory,
a dream, a story.
And we go back to the earth,
a part of the universe.
I wish you are still here, a part of this universe.
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