I am going on a journey.
Suddenly, it dawned on me —
what if I die?

Abrupt. Unnoticed.

Is there anything
I could leave behind?
Other than grief,
than sadness,
regret?

I realized — no.
I have none.

So I stood up,
braced myself:

I will not die.
At least,
not today.

And when you cry, we will
weep with you.
But not for pity — not grief.
It is for triumph.
You made it.

True?
Applause.

Your hard work, finally,
paid off.
– fin.

I was a casket, heavy
with memories fading into stupor
I refused to decipher words
that once let me hold blue
and name green
in a shade of blood orange, skies.

We walked —
I floated through gravel,
tears soaking my feet
beside your resting head.

I wept in silence,
for no one was meant to hear.
No one dared
to comfort the hollow
where my voice bellowed
in melancholic grace.

The ship sailed
into the horizon above clouds —
but there was no Neverland,
only the second star
to the right —
its red light dimming
before the supernova.

I do not think that people
will ever understand
the mind of poetry,
to leave these words behind
and hoping that someday
the steps I walked on by
will catch me by the hand
be my memory,
be my sanity,

We do not fight monsters
we fight illusions
that are much better
than this reality
where we are stronger,
wiser, richer, and full.