Echos of the Unseen

Echos of the Unseen

In the quiet crypts of thought where shadows creep,
Where time itself seems solemnly to sleep,
There lies a fear not of the silent bier,
But of the world that moves when I'm not here.

"It is not death I fear," I softly say,
"But life that marches on when I decay.
Will there be one to mourn or shed a tear,
Or will my echoes fade year after year?"

The specter of oblivion, cold and vast,
Whispers that all I am will soon be past.
A wraith in life's grand masquerade, austere,
Questioning if my acts will disappear.

Does anything I do indeed have weight,
Or is it lost, a trifle left to fate?
A fleeting breath, a moment's fleeting cheer,
Gone with the wind, as though I ne'er was here.

Yet in this heart, a hopeful ember glows,
That in the end, perhaps, somebody knows.
The deeds I've done, the love I hold so dear,
May yet endure and conquer this dark fear.

For in the deeds to others that we give,
In kindness sown, our legacies will live.
And so I'll strive, with neither doubt nor leer,
To touch a soul, and thus remain e'er near.

“It is not death I fear, but life going on without me. Will anyone even notice? Does anything I do even matter?”

• S