The Words Left Unsaid-Poems

just listen

I want my death to have a meaning

I want it to speak just as loud as my life

I want it to drown you out

So that all you can do 

Is listen to the cries of a late banshee

Counting the ways you affected and formed me

It wouldn't be your day of judgement

Rather, it would be the day where you realize one vital thing:

The doom of life has always been proportions