Memories of sunlight at St Mary’s School

Everyday, parts of me die

in the most predictable manner.

By the time I finish this sentence, another thousand gone;

skin cells

quietly ruptured.

 

Death becomes mundane when so regimented,

so unselfish.

There is no drama in keeping to schedule,

none in the greater good,

when all you leave is dust

remembered

only when passing through sunbeams.

 

This was originally published by The Swan.

Memories of sunlight at St Mary’s School

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