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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Death · #1510619
When it is too late to think of what you've left behind...
Not Forgotten
by
Cursed

Who is there to love, who is worth loving?
Life’s a tape on fast-forward.
As time passes, we die as we’re born,
Nothing left to be seen or heard.

When the past haunts and the future distresses
The present withers away.
When all three times stand ignored
What’s left is love, they say.

I grow infuriated, not able to feel
The emotion which most express.
The greatest joy in all the world
Flutters in your hearts, possessed.

Am I trapped inside the box,
Or am I the one who’s free?
Those who say I’m missing out
Are staring down at me.

Days diminish to nightfall
Before I ever knew what passed.
Anything that is dependable
Will never stand to last.

Pain breaks way to emptiness
But no one left will refill
You want things done, you do it yourself,
And with this flame, I will.

I let the fume replete my lungs
I let my soul take flight
Before the darkness overcomes
There is a flash of white.

In that brief, eternal instant
I view the headstone as it lies
Beneath the many colored flowers,
That rest below the tearful eyes.

A girl will sit and trace her finger
Across the carved words thereof,
“Here Lies A True Big Brother
The Only Man I’ll Ever Love.”
© Copyright 2008 CursedFreedom (brokensword at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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