perhaps we're not afraid of death
but of our name plucked from the air
of the silence that surrounds a thing
that's just no longer there
for we never really know
the lifespan of a single sound
how many years after a body stops
a name will stick around
perhaps it stretches generations
echos one last time, then never
until the space filled is replaced
by it's unknown loss forever
or maybe there's another way
it lives after we fade
it's why we write our names on books we own
and all we've ever made
it's a sliver of remembrance
in a world prone to forget
the taste of who we were
on lips of one's we've never met
the hope they'll stumble on the stories
we have loved, worn down with age
that there they'll find what we had left
our name upon the cover page
and for just that fleeting moment
it's as though we've beaten death
that in the whisper of those words
we have taken one more breath
YOU ARE READING
The Silent
Poetry⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ if any of the tagged things are sensitive to read about or makes you feel uncomfortable, please do not read! I'd hate to be the reason you feel either way. *Please feel free to leave feedback and suggestions in the comments, thx...
