Something Left of Me
Image by Darryl Willis | All Rights Reserved

Will there be anything left of me

you will want to keep —

some scrap of page, perhaps

a bauble — a piece of glass?

Will the words I have gathered and

pieced together be worthwhile —

a thought to keep you warm?

Or will they be destined for the bin

to be tossed and burned with trash?

Will there be something left of me

you will want to keep —

a thought, a smile, a memory,

a laugh, a tear or sigh?

Will you recall my eyes

dancing with delight, watching

you dancing, laughing in the rain: tiny

bare feet that echo in the silence

of the mist (will I be missed)?

If so, scatter my ashes to the wind

and I will rest as easy as

breathing while you sleep.

If not, even an alabaster house

would only be a cold slab where

these old bones could never rest.
['Darryl Willis']
['Poetry', 'Poetry On Medium', 'Literally Literary']