Death's Chainsaw

As cascading trees in Death's dreams, we each grow to fall. 

In our frozen, dilapidated state, we're all the same, though. 

It's the tranquility of man-made memory, which makes us unique, which makes us whole. Weathered, weary and grown, then an infinity, alone. 

Scattered like stardust, like sentient sawdust throughout the universe, 

by Death's chainsaw.