These mortal bones will one day be gone.
The places I have gone won't matter.
The things I did won't matter.
People will miss me.
But what will they remember of me.
Will it be what I've said?
Will it be what I've done?
I will never know for certain.
These mortal bones will crumble to dust.
Nothing will be left of me,
But memories.
I will make sure that those memories are good,
Because I wouldn't want you to be glad that I'm gone.
I want you to miss me,
And not to be happy that I'm gone.
YOU ARE READING
Threads of Words
شِعرThese poems are simply my emotions. Most of these poems are fictionalized while some are loosely based upon my own experiences. I never thought that I would express my feelings and aspirations with anyone but myself. I surprised myself when I starte...
