The Letter

A poem of death from a different perspective

The foretold story was not what it seemed,
For I rose from my body as if in a dream.
The ground down below me, the clouds up above,
Revealed to the dead man, the scene from a dove.

The autos were scattered across the small road,
And people had surrounded, the car I'd just rode.
The lights came a-blinking at the scene of the wreck.
The coroner had determined a break in my neck.

The funeral was set as two days had gone by,
Since I was still living then no one should cry.
But cry they then did 'cause I had no say,
For when I was buried, was on this fine day.

The years went by quickly, as I sat on my post.
I waited and waited, for I was a ghost.
People went on, not hearing my cries,
And they had forgotten, my baby blue eyes.

So, I sat all alone, as I faded from sight.
The mem'ries had gone, thus the end of my fight.

Sincerely,

Goodbye.

P.S. I'll see you some night.