I see things talking about how when people die their story has ended
And yet, how many poets wrote their life away only to be known after they passed?
How many painters brought color to everyday life, only for it to be truly seen after they're long gone?
How many writers took a pen and wrote their last breath on paper, only for it's brilliance to take life after they died?
How many more will have to suffer this same fate?
To live a life of passion in art, only to be written off?
Then, to be seen from beyond the grave
How many more will only be heard when they have no more breath to speak with?
How many more will only be understood when death takes their ability to stand?
So please, don't tell me that when death takes me, I will have lived the last word in my story.