What’s Left Behind

A legacy poem

Photo by Irena Carpaccio on Unsplash

The day will come where
All will cease to be
A day when I will no longer clasp
My pen and write
As I once freely did

One day no words will crawl
From my aged lips
And I will no longer take
Careful sips
From my English tea

Instead I will lay motionless
Still, a state in which
No medicine will recover me

I will no longer feel the burn
Of love or pain
I’ll be allowed not to protest in disdain
Or listen to my offspring complain
Inhibited from going insane

No.

I’ll have my tender life strings slashed
And dashed down
An everlasting dark void
Every last figment of my being
Destroyed

And what will I have to present
For my life short-lived
A black binder notebook
With pages that have
Long since withered