What becomes of words without breath
When left alone on the outskirts of death
The yellowing pages that told of my soul
Who will repeat them once my image is old
In the leather bound books high on a shelf
That speak of the secrets I long kept myself
To whose hands will hold them these lines I created
When stilled are my eyes and my love is outdated
Can they long survive me with a life of their own
These seedlings well rooted, when my time is outgrown
Will they fall to the ears of a new poet's heart
What becomes of words without breath, when I depart
Susan Lacovara
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/what-becomes-of-words-without-breath/
