The End

When you can’t tell
what remains of me,
from the earth
or the ocean floor;
When my voice is scrubbed
from the itinerant air,
that light can paint
my image no more;

When the mist
that brushed my weary face,
has washed its hands
in the bowl of the sky;
the rain that cooled
the feel of your skin,
has patted its
pearly droplets dry;

When you can’t tell
what once was me,
when it seems
I was just a dream;
I won’t live, trapped
in your memory,
you see, love too
could have never been.

01/5/15 Linked to dVerse Poets

17 thoughts on “The End

  1. at 65, i feel at times ‘enough is enough’ and at others like ‘i’m just starting’ so while i can quite empathise with what you express so eloquently, until one breathes that last breath hopefully one will live, love and laugh side by side with the tears and sufferings to be endured. as for my remains they’re going to an anatomy lab, so thereafter shall i be forgotten forever…

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you… I read your quote from E.E. Cummings and felt the poem fitted your post.. though it didn’t meet the comical mixed-metaphor requirement of the prompt!!


  2. An intriguing piece for sure; thoughtful & fatalistic & dark, & yet void of despair, as you help us to see that at some point our husk will return to the elemental state–but I do hope, & believe that the person we are/were will be carried in the hearts & minds of those who knew us, loved or hated us–& our spiritual adventure on the other side of the veil should not be overlooked.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Beautifully done, eloquent indeed. Hard to imagine – for me anyway – that one day I will even cease to be a memory… so I live for today.
    Anna :o]


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