Chests Of Old Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Broken-hearted, still, saddened by this day of life, there
being no one to understand or guide me along the way, walking
unsurely in the path of darkness - no one will light the way.

Insincerity climbing towards my feet, trying to trip me up,
it matters not at all for I have already died inside and no
one knows it yet!

How blind everyone can be towards another, as dying in front
of them I do not cower or hide, just face it with a smile.

Not caring what is left behind, because none of it is useful,
it cannot help when I'm buried under six feet of ground with
a marble tombstone on my head.

Grass will grow over the freshly dug dirt in time and everyone
will forget who I was, save a chosen few who meant so much
when alive.

In their memories, I'll safely abide until they too join me
in flight, destined for heaven's joy.

Soon all the memories of me will reunite above and no one on
earth will hold me again within their minds.

Pictures will trade hands over the years and slowly fade with
time, forgotten in chests of old, stashed in attics, collecting
dust.

Until a day when discovered by a stranger who cares not an
iota who's they were and tosses them into the garbage where
they'll find at last their rightful place on earth.