Random Quote

A writer is one who creates works of art for the masses without ever asking for anything in return.

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?

Categories: Poetry
Tags: #Life

Comments (4)

  • Ginny Brannan . January 24, 2012 . Reply

    The deep questions we poets ponder. Life as pain or sickness. Does anyone care? Do they see me? Well conceived poem pondering these questions. I’ve also had moments questioning similar. Sharing a link to one of them: http://insideoutpoetry.blogspot.com/2011/06/teetering.html

    • (Author) Bradley Howington . January 25, 2012 . Reply

      Indeed, life is pain mixed with a little sickness. We get by though. Thank you for your kind comment, Ginny! 🙂

  • Lindy Lee . January 25, 2012 . Reply

    Thought-provoking…

    • (Author) Bradley Howington . January 25, 2012 . Reply

      Thank you!

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