Your Story’s Not Done

Memories are alive They breathe and age With us, like us They’re never the same They shrink and expand With each breath in our lungs They return us to places Where they once had begun They remind us how far We all have come Before whispering, “Your story’s not done.”

Stripped

It’s in the moments When our senses are deprived We finally figure out Just who we are inside Stripped of flesh Pretense and perception As small as we are large Freed from perfection Simply alive As we were always Meant to be