Ledger of Mortality

Where love meets death, the ledger falls open, Each heartbeat tallied against what remains. Gold coins placed on closed eyelids, The final transaction we cannot refuse. We spend our days like currency, Trading hours for promises of tomorrow. Love appreciates; money depreciates; Death makes collectors of us all. In the market of mortality, We invest in fleeting touches, Store wealth in remembered whispers, As the banker of bones calls in our debts. What fortune survives the grave? Only that which we've given away— The love we scattered like seeds, Now flowering in gardens we'll never see.