By Mark A. Leon

The obituary is but a solemn set of words for the living
For the subject is without pain, without existence; no more
A recollection of a time when life had meaning, until the end

No romanticism in the end
Just a final breath and it all resets to zero with the promise of an infinite home
A silly contraction to some
A golden calf of faith to others

Memories disappear in a digital wasteland
Pictures fade into the corners of attics
Videos are reserved for special days to reflect over wine and sorrow
A lifetime immortalized in footsteps from up above until the footsteps are no more

I am without pain now
You still hear me in your past
A few fleeting leaves dropping from the sky
A butterfly carrying my spirit
A poem about just you and I
A promise in a letter; one that could only be made by the youngest of hearts
A journey we hoped to share
A legacy…a pause

Winter has arrived in its cold and damp darkness
Try to hear me in the wind
A calming thought, I imagine, if my imagination endured

I want to see you shivering
To feel you once again
To assure you there is something
I do, I really do
Alone, you curl in the corner of the couch
Last flame flickering

When you read this, what do you remember of me?
What thought of us tortures your mind?
It is pleasant, romantic, sad, uplifting or simply safe?

Tell a story for yourself, or a new generation
Carry this on as long as you can
Soon your pain will be over

My pain is over
All that is left behind are millions of silent screams looking for answers