If I died in my sleep; my body at rest.
Who would care?
Who would protest?
If I left this world and entered the unknown.
What will I see?
Would it be nothing but alone?
If the universe recycles me.
Will I be what I want to be?
Why can’t they see me?
Am I the unknown which walks for miles,
Unseen and hurting to the naked eye?
If I died in my sleep; my body at rest.
Would I be seen then?
Would someone care less?
If I left this world and entered the unknown,
Would the parallel world accept my bones?
Is life a sickness that we can’t seem to heal, or is it a never-ending pain we feel?
The deep questions we poets ponder. Life as pain or sickness. Does anyone care? Do they see me? Well conceived poem pondering these questions. (BTW, love the image choice!)
Posted by Ginny Brannan | January 24, 2012, 9:24 PMI’ve also had moments questioning similar. Sharing a link to one of them: http://insideoutpoetry.blogspot.com/2011/06/teetering.html
Indeed, life is pain mixed with a little sickness. We get by though. Thank you for your kind comment, Ginny!
Posted by Bradley HowingtonTwitter: Brad_Howington
| January 25, 2012, 12:13 AM
Thought-provoking…
Posted by Lindy Lee | January 25, 2012, 4:15 PMThank you! Life makes you think, hard.
Posted by Bradley HowingtonBradley Howington recently posted: Flame of Light Blue Candle
Twitter: Brad_Howington
| January 25, 2012, 9:29 PM