Just a Memory
Where will we be when the future arrives?
Will we be nothing but dust,
Filling the ground with nothing but cobwebs and our sadness?
Or will we be memories,
Filling the ground with blooming flowers, each more beautiful than the last?
Will anyone exist to love us,
To remember us,
To water the flowers,
To feel what we have left?
Or will they be dust too?
This poem is about:
Our world