When I am laid to rest—
Where I go doesn’t matter.
I’ll find out when I get there.
It’s where I’ve been—that kept me up.
What would my legacy look like?
Did I give meaning to life?
Did I create laughter?
Did the fragrance of flowers fill my senses—
and not just this room of mourning?
Did all the hurts I caused—
find healing?
Did I hear the answers to these questions—
Or was I too late?
Will someone ask—why?
will they know—
what I might’ve said?
Were my eyes—
still filled with wonderment?
Will people know life’s quota—
was less than I desired?
That life was insufficient—
to quench my thirst.
If not—the fault was mine.
In the end—
you just need to be known,
I did not wish to go!
I only longed to stay!
Don’t be sad—
It’s a testament to you—
