Little Things

to remember

Perhaps we're not afraid of death,
But our mane plucked from the air,
Of silence that surrounds a thing,
That'd just no longer there.
For we never really know
The lifespan of a single souns,
How many years after a body stops,
A name will stick around.
Perhaps it stretches generations,
Echos one last time then never,
Until the space filled's replaced ,
By its unknown loss forever,
Or maybe there's another way
It lives after we fade,
It's why we write our names on books we own ,
And all we've ever made.
It's a sliver of remembrance
In a world prone to forget ,
The taste of who we were,
On the lips of one we've never met .
I hope they'll stumble on stories
We've loved,  worn down with age,
That there theyll find what we had left,
Our name upon the cover page.
And just for a fleeting moment,
Its as if we had beaten death,
That in the whisper of those words,
We have taken our final breath.