Death once asked me
“ You are a cast-away lost at sea,
You are brushed off like eraser dust,
You are played with like a pinball,
You are forgotten, just like the forgotten nuts hidden by a squirrel.
“Why don’t you lose hope?
Why do you work so hard when no one appreciates?
Why do you try to be perfect when nothing good ever happens?
Why work at all when all men shall die?
Shouldn’t you be worried about me?”
To death, I then said,
“ Why should I worry about death?
Why worry when I know I shall never die?
For, I know I shall never truly die as long as people talk about me!
All I worry about, is what they shall talk about me when I’m gone.”
This is my second poem, and I really wish to know how you all feel about it!
Thank you so much!