Fri, 09/13/2013 - 23:46 -- kendahl


    One day, I will cease to exist. I will be neither here nor there. I won't be ME. The notion that everyday Oblivion will seek ME, and welcome ME, Scares ME. What happens when I'm gone? Will anyone care? Will anyone notice? Have I made a lasting impression? I'm terrified. To think, that death can meet me at any corner. Death can meet YOU at any corner. I wake knowing one day I will just be a shell. It won't be me that is buried or cremated. It will be a shell, a container of what used to be me. Oblivious is the naive child who wakes happily only to meet oblivion after chasing a ball. Oblivious is the Mother of the child in the street. We all wake oblivious to the oncoming Oblivion that is death. It comes when least expected. It comes even when expected. Will I wake with HIM? Will I wake Oblivious? Or, will I wake in Oblivion? Forgotten by many and remembered by so few.     

Guide that inspired this poem: 


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