picky, picky, and ME

What is it like to be gone?

To leave without saying good-bye?

To know that RIP is all there is?

“Rest in Peace?”

You’re gone, disappeared for ever!

There is no end to the “I could of’s”

But there is a light, a fraction of hope,

A game that all the children play,

Of who can run the farthest…

Of who can touch the sky…

Of who can forget…

But do we truly forget,

Or even forgive, the divine claim?

All the world is a stage,

But who watched the play?

Is it we who play,

For when we bore?

Or for them, who can barely move?

Maybe for all! Young and old,

For those who wish to reminisce.