My life seems unimportant as I wrestle in the shadows,
And feel that all my days have been a curse,
So little I've achieved for all my words are soon forgotten,
And lost within the rhymes of clouded verse.
For no one shall remember me when I am here no longer,
Nor place a single flower on my grave,
Or kiss the stone where I do lie or weep a mourning teardrop,
A kindly word for me no one shall save.
The grass shall grow around me there until my name is hidden,
Which over time will slowly fade away,
Until no one can read it then my stone will surely crumble,
So ridden by the forces of decay.
Its dust shall blow upon the wind and never will it settle,
My spirit too shall never find a home,
But go on searching for the dream I never found when living,
Across the hills and mountains I shall roam.
ANDREW BLAKEMORE
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-life-122/
