Mikey Jackson

Gone, Forgotten

Who will tend to my grave when I have left this curious life
When my loved ones lay in wait for their own cemetery blooms
For we are all only here for one lifetime
And in memory, only a few years more

Who will save my headstone from the relentless invasion of green
A hectic chaos of ivy, brambles and grass
Where life goes on and never stops to look back and wonder
About the former life of the man who resides below this maze of roots
Who will remember me when my passing is ancient news
When I exist only as a hundred fading snaps
Happy smiling faces, protruding tongues, the jazz hands of youth
Growing up, tying knots, rearing young, then the cragged face of life’s winter years

Who will view this dusty gallery of long-forgotten souls
In a long-forgotten album in a long-forgotten chest of drawers
Yearning to be browsed by future generations not witnessed by my living eyes
Waiting to be rediscovered, maybe. Probably not

Who will weep for my demise when there is nobody left to care
And ask who I was, what I did, where I lived, who I loved
Remember, we are all only here for one lifetime
And in memory, only a few years more.

 

 
Mikey Jackson is a versatile writer from the seaside town of Worthing, near Brighton, on the South Coast of England where the sun sometimes shines, but it mostly rains. Author of the novel Patience Is A Virgin, he writes scripts for TV, radio, film, stage and web, novels, short stories, poems, comedy sketches, gags, web content and letters to the milkman.

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