Ephemerels

 In whispers soft, mortality's last breath, 

Man's free will succumb to the grasp of death. 

As mortals, we tremble, our untold fears, 

Send prayers as odes to gods for them to hear.

Preparing our loved ones for the celestial flight,

Two coins in hand, a tariff to Charon,

To ferry the souls through Styx's waters thereon.

To realms serine, where peace resides.

Upon the pyre, their spirits set free, 

Released from the burdens of mortality.

Or in the earth's embrace, so they find their rest, 

In Gaia's arms, forever blessed.

Through rites and rituals, our heart seeks release,

From the chains of life, so our soul finds peace. 

In the face of loss, in that grieving place,

Only our shared memories are a saving grace.

We hope to leave marks on this earth eternal.

As permanent as life’s ephemerals.

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