When I die,
I want my words to die with me,
A cloud of silent echoes,
Festering in the hollow of my skull.
When I die,
I want my bones to rust at the bottom of the sea,
A clockwork ribcage of kelp-draped bronze,
Enclosing a rotten ruby gem within.
When I die,
I want the music in my mind to halt,
And all the minor chords to shift to major,
And all the sonatas to serenade me as I fall,
And all the ballades to convene in an infinite crescendo.
For when I die,
All my words may die with me,
All my voice may fade into the diminuendo of a echo never heard.
But truly...
When I die,
That will be the day the violins commence their lament of my loss,
The day the pianos placate my posthumous sighs,
My dear, that,
Will be the day my symphony begins.
.........................
Written for prompt #3 of the Thinky Ink-Scribers Club, run by the lovely EvanesceOurRain. The prompt for this week was a picture prompt, which can be found in the club book on EvanesceOurRain's profile. To anyone interested in meeting a wonderful community of poets and being challenged with some creative, unique prompts, I highly suggest joining this club.
As always, thank you for reading, my Rosebuds. Stay awesome. :)
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PoetryIf life is but a dream, I will never achieve lucidity. #6 in Poetry (2/14/2022) Runner-Up in the Metaphorically Spoken category of the Summer Sun Awards, 2016 Cover by Seth Yurchisin (IG: @sjyurchisin Note that none of th...
