Somewhere between the dust and the stars,
this is where we lie. Motionless.        
                                          Humbled.

I know. That when I pass on from this world
There will be no new books penned
no films that tell my tale
no newspaper headline.
                                   I am.
Unremarkable.

                                               If I'm lucky.
Maybe a handful of people will shed tears.
Maybe a single heart will
                                   break.
Maybe I'll have flowers placed at my headstone
                                    yearly.
Maybe Her voice will speak my name.
Maybe.
                                               If I'm lucky.