I glance about and note some trash
eyes lingering on its curving shape.
Some remnant of a ghostly past,
like a discarded jawbone left to waste.
Not yet abandoned to the dust,
my flesh has yet to rot and die.
With time grows weak my wanderlust,
though now, today, I am alive.
Some spark of thought lights weakly here,
that some day soon my end draws near.
Then my existence too will cease,
my bones back to the earth a piece.
Will words I once breathed live again?
Beyond my grave and charred remains.
If all I wrote, I wrote in vain,
at least in life it eased my pain.
All is not lost, though earth will be,
and gain is perishing to me.
For souls survive beyond the dark,
once bitter stillness grips my heart.