Tilting of the Monument

After the curtain comes down
when masks are tossed aside.
When applause becomes an ember,
can you live with the leftovers?
Will you devour yourself
then grow into your flower?

What is left at the very end?
A spirit at ease or gray mayhem.
Were you truly loved or thoroughly hated?
What does your life equation say?
Who'll care enough to read your script?
When time gently tilts your monument.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

Poem

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Romios Avatar
April 6, 2019 at 12:16 PM
Wow, Anthony. This poses a philosophical query. I heard this saying about death, that I liked. You are never truly dead, until all the people you touched and love are dead, too. I had a ball bring on this earth..it was a gift just to exist. Panagiota
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