Gone

One day I’ll die.
And the world, forgetful as it already is,
in hibernating spell shall lie,
unaware of the tragedy.

What happens then,
of promises that weren’t kept?
Does it remind them of an untrue me,
who in a painless hurry,
left.
What happens to bed time stories?
Of passion flaring up in a fluid love,
of the bedside now unclaimed, empty and undone.

The burly arms often held in embrace,
now seek assurance,
of renewed presence,
of a body that was mine.
Of a heart that beat against a heavy chest.
Heavy with fear and despairing request,
to relive,
to relish and bless.

I’ll be gone, to never return.
And with me will be washed away memories.
Waves on shore bring nothing but remembrances,
of those times that I was here.
And now I am gone,
you’ll have to live,
with false assurances,
of ‘Everything will be fine.’

While deep down you want to shout,
‘She’s gone.
Leaving me in agony alone!’

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