When I die,
Maybe I dont want
People to move on.
Maybe I dont want
People to get on with their lives.
Everyone always says that.
Carry on, keep going.
Dont mourn me.
While I hear excerpts of
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
Maybe I want you to do just that.
For a grave is not where I belong.
It's not with you.
My light is extinguished.
It will no longer brighten your day,
Or make you smile,
Comfort you when you cry,
Or listen to your problems.
I want you to miss that.
So many moments,
Of deathbed, selfless, nobility.
But remmeber it's me on the deathbed.
I cant tell you it will be alright.
It wont.
I'm not coming home.
The dash on my headstone
May be filled with many things,
But it will always be incomplete.
There will always be more.
More that I want to see.
More that I want to do.
More that I want to say.
More that I want to hear.
The dash on my headstone,
Will always beg to be filled with more,
For there is never a good time to die.
I want you to cry for that.
I want you to dwell on it.
Think about it
Eat it.
Breathe it.
Sleep it.
Live it.
I'm just speaking the truth.
For the truth is no one wants to be forgotten.
No one wants to be a fleeting moment,
A satellite passing over head,
In a starry night sky.
Soaring into view,
and then fading into Obscurity.
I'd like to think my existence
Means so much to others
That, like me, it cannot be lived without.
That it's worth mourning infinitely.
Call it selfish, call it pretentious.
Call it what you will.
But remember it's me,
upon This deathbed.
My death is a mere part
Of your story.
But it's the end of mine.
My death is a passing note
In the harmonious, sometimes
Dischorded symphony of your life
But for me, it's the final note,
Of another incomplete
Requiem hymn.
When I die,
You will move on,
You will continue, as I cease.
You will find a way to live.
Your tears will dry,
And your sobs will quiet,
And like my death,
This is something
I will have to learn to accept.
I have the rest of my life.