In death

My mind often wonders

If I were to die tomorrow,
to expire, depart, croak
I would like my words to carry on,
become eternal
Let my voice be timeless in the words I spew forth
Should I be remembered for who I am,
who I truly am, not this facade I project,
it would be a tragedy
Let me be remembered as a poet,
as a creator of whimsical ideas
of beauty within the pages.
Remember me not, outside these crisp clean pages,
forget who I am,
I create an illusion I can not live up to,
in death I shall be remembered,
as beautiful.