If I Go

This one is a little longer and doesn't really rhyme...like at all

I'm tired, my eyes are sagging.

But if I sleep tonight will I awake in another land?

Will the last thing I see be the back of my eyelids?

Will the last sounds I hear be cars cruising by, unaware of my presence?

Will the last thing I feel be the soft warmth of my blanket fitted snugly around my body like a cocoon

Shielding me from Jack Frost's cold breath?

If I forever sleep tonight what will become of my poems?

What will happen to my prized treasures,

Things I wrote to bring my mind pleasure,

Things I created because I thought I was being clever,

Things I crafted into tools to help build character.

What will happen to my poems, my trophies?

If I am lost will they be as well?

If I travel to the depths of the earth will they follow me to my Hell, into the great unknown?

Will it be as though the pencil was reversed and the words are taken from the page,

My poems passing into an even deeper place than I,

A forgotten land where even the land itself goes unheard of?

I cannot be saved even by the smartest of people

But my poems can last 10 times longer.

I can be forgotten but my words don't have to be.

I will decompose but my poems must not follow.

Words are tools and while I'm still alive I'm left wondering:

Will my words ever construct anything in others?

Author's Note

Wrote this one night alone in my room thinking about my afterlife...

Reviews

[M. J. Smith]

Through the internet, a poet's work can be bequeathed to the world. Or maybe to those who might best appreciate them. It need not be lost. Mortality is inevitable. Legacy is forever. Let that be your monument.

[Cameron@Poet]

And so it shall be. Thank you much M.J.! I will keep your words in mind.