Ripples beyond Time-When we become stories

In the end, we'll all become stories,
Whispers in the wind, memories in old glories,
The pages of our lives, turned, folded, worn,
The tales we told, the loves we earned, the scars that formed.

We’ll linger in laughter that drifts through the years,
In lullabies softened by longing and tears,
In frames on the mantle, in letters once read,
In words gently spoken of those who have fled.

We’ll be the legends, the myths, the songs unheard,
Echoes of what we did, the love we disbursed,
A touch on the shoulder when courage feels thin,
A quiet reminder of who we had been.

Our names may fade from the lips of the young,
Like hymns half-remembered, once tenderly sung,
Yet somewhere a kindness we offered will bloom,
Like wildflowers rising from cracks in the gloom.

In the end, it's not the time, but the impact we made,
The ripples we created, the hearts we remade,
For love is the ink that outlives every breath,
A story that triumphs even over death.

And when dusk lays its hand on the gold of the day,
And the noise of our footsteps has faded away,
We’ll live in the warmth of the lives that we lit—
A pulse in the dark, where love never wilts.