I Was Here

What happens when you die?

Do you just vanish?
Do you come back to the stars?
Do you just sink in oblivion?
Do you come back to your mother?
Does everything begin to start again?

We all think that when we die, we will be forgotten.
So we want to leave our mark on the world, a sign to let people know that we were here.

I hope the Earth does not forget me when my body does not pace these sidewalks.
I hope the world does not forget me when my ink dies along with my body.
I hope my name lasts forever, as much as the sun's life, as much as the universe's life.

I am sure I will not be forgotten.
My books will always have my name, my story, and my face
all over their pages.

These books of mine will also have the names of those who were also here, those who found their voices through my words.
They also existed; they also had a story to tell.

There is no oblivion for writers.
There is no oblivion for poets.
There is no oblivion for art.

Here is my print.
Here is my legacy.
I was here.