When I am gone,
My body will be long forgotten
Under this earth,
Only my named engraved into a head marking
Will prove to the world that
I have existed once.
But, maybe, these words that
Are imprinted into books of poetry
That sit in your attic
Full of cobwebs and gloomy thoughts
Or on your bookshelf
With sticky notes poking out of the edges,
The spine riddled down
And have grown soft with use-
Either way,
These poems will
Keep me alive.
My thoughts will still be here,
My sorrows and and my hopes
And my observations about the world
Around me
Will still breathe life
Through these pages,
Even when my own lungs
Cannot.
I believe that if I think this way,
It Will help me to
Not be scared of dying,
For all of us will have to do
At some point in our lives.
When I am gone,
Do not visit my grave,
For I am not there anymore-
I am in the poetry
That I have written,
I am in the words that I have praised-
That is where I will be.
