Something of existence that lives on,
some leave behind of us
so the world knows the story,
so it cares that we had names.
Such is the deep living pain,
to leave nothing.
So human the sadness
and the hope.
Such is a hollow, hollowness
all round and quivering with fear.
To die alone.
To die out.
To be nothing but dust and
memory, briefly
before you fade from Earth.