Death is just a myth, you know.
If you catch it, you’ll be fine.
If you go, it was your time.
You can store your life in us,
If you stack us the right way.
We’ll save your dreams, stash your days,
So they smell as sweet and strong
When souls prise our sealed lids free
As rare oils from fresh salt seas.
Each word serves as your snug urn,
As your jar, wax-tight to air.
We’ll hold death’s myths, too. That’s fair.
