ladyGrace202

I am dying. I am dying and there's nothing I can do about it. I know this, but I refuse to believe that I will just fade away quietly: that when I'm gone and when those that knew me are gone, that there will be nothing more of me in existence. I want to be remembered; I want to make a mark. Is it not the human condition to desire this? I feel that no matter what good thing I attempt to pursue, it takes me somewhere that I had never intended to be, and that much further from my goal. Every consequent step taking me further down a tangential path I never consciously made. I have two hands and a voice and the knowledge of how to use them, but I

A new sun rises, A day has dawned. The tables have turned And the curtains are drawn. Static faces in blank disguises, Two suns can't set before another rises. Gazing to the unknown horizon, My whole world is torn. Flowing from her eyes and into mine, Prospects are reborn. The vision forever lingers: Hair clasped in rigorous fingers. The sky was murky, Two drops of color lost in a glass. Stirred once and left... Left to sort things out with the amorphous deep. Frail foundations Without fair warning, And angels at night Have never dreamt of morning. Expressionless smiles, Wrinkled, cracked plastic... Hollow words neither believes.