When I’ll cease to be,
And the worms will throw a feast
On these lips that you loved so,
Know that they will say
Could they say anything at all:
“In his last moment,
He sighed your name.”
Image credit: Feature image generated with DALL·E using a prompt based on this poem and its themes.
If this piece resonates with you and you’re a visual artist, I’d love to feature your own soul-crafted work in place of the AI image.
Far away from homeThere’s a graveI’m looking forTo chill my warm bonesWith your cold embrace.Fireflies would light candlesTo my final memoriesOf your laughterThat’s etchedDeep within my bonesRusty scythe of deathWould rattle bitter-sweet musicOf your engraved memoryOn...
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