Thursday, July 30, 2009


You never see the mourners at your grave.
You will not know who wept or was a rock,
Who broke to smithereens, who acted brave,
Who took it calmly or went into shock.
Where will you be? Between the moment when
You fall asleep and when you’re chanticleered.
It’s only once you do wake up again
That you come back from where you disappeared.
So if there is no retroactive waking,
Just a drift off with no hope of recall,
There will not even be a trip you’re taking.
There will not even be a you at all.
Just thought unthinking with a breath unpuffed
To light where light goes when a candle’s snuffed.
copyright 2009 Matthew J Wells

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