Poetry2ponder's Blog

My death will be unknown.
No one will weep; no one will know.
No flowers on a headstone.
No one will ever find my bones.

I’ll take my death quietly, in stride.
Though a sinner, I have nothing to hide.
People won’t even know that I’m gone.
I’ll disappear like the stars at dawn.

A mystery forgotten is what they’ll remember,
Like why does January come after December,
Like how the fog floats away on a hot summer day.
I’ll be the dreams in your head before starting each day.

I will be the melted snow in the streams.
My death will be life, as strange as it seems.