PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

to see death.
what is beyond this realm of existence seen today.
Escape to another universe, looking from above
watch as others’ lives play out
without me.
To be gone in body
let my soul float around like a puff of smoke,
making trips in and out of friends’ minds
Finally knowing their motives
I long to know if I am in their thoughts or a part of their daily plan.
Was I important to them?

I think sometimes about dying on purpose, but I wouldn’t call it suicide.
Suicide sounds so lethal.
Call it curious.
I just want to know who would be at my bedside as I die.
At the funeral, how many of my old friends and long lost lovers would make an effort to be there?
Was I important to anyone?

to be that puff, that whirls around in the face of an old beau and seeps into his brain, to see him crying inside, over me.
Listen to his regret of harsh words, or maybe, his respect for my kindness.
Or better yet, hear him wonder what could have been so I could have one final satisfaction before my soul rested.

She types earnestly, as if someone would read what she has written someday.

Once she was gone, he was alone again.
He pictured the nights in her bed and days on the road.
He could remember her voice, her touch, her doe eyes and her smile.
He wondered why she never had more out of life with all she had to offer.
He regretted.
He regretted
He regretted

Then, she rested.