What will it be like to be dead?
Brown bread.
Will I know it's happened?
Maybe,
Possibly,
I'll come across old friends.
Will I perhaps step straight onto a plain of emerald grass?
Festooned with flowers,
With one single solitary tree,
Standing there lonely,
lonely, but free.
Maybe standing tall and ancient.
Older than the distant trees seemingly endlessly to decorate the horizon.
Will they maybe strung out along a lonely avenue?
Might they happen to be strung with bright and ever blazing Christmas lights.
Will there be April showers?
To keep the flowers alive.

Or maybe,
A terrifying thought.
I could wake up in a room without a view.
Or even the very worse thing,
That could ever happen,
coming face to face again with you.
I wonder!
(c)Livvi