A Few of Us Must Walk

I am young, but I have lived,
and everyday there are good byes never said
to the ones we have known and appreciated silently,
letting them be the person we will miss.
Flowers adorn what used to be foreign,
and tears embrace what still may be,
But it is the preparation which tears us into commoners,
not ever knowing why to a riddle never meant to be solved.
Some will compose a symphony tying every moment
to the one everyone will remember,
but these moments will go unraveled before memory is opened,
and no one will run to their God,
and no one will leave when the stairs are clear.
Because who wants to go away from love,
the last passion,
So it is the dying we are afraid of,
but as for death,
A few of us must walk;
with everything to cry for,
and nothing to concede.

--Anonymous