my words
my words in life
will carry on into death.
I will still create poetry,
but behind closed eyes
I will still describe
the ocean and it's blueness,
the sky and it's fullness.
My descriptions will be crisp,
clean and more vivid then before.
I will see things better,
smell things that i've forgotten.
Touch, yes i will feel the touch
of a blade of grass as i
whistle through it with my lips.
And hear, I will hear again
things i miss.
The roving waves near the beach,
my favorite paradise.
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