On the journey to the end
he sought remembrance
for his life

He asked the statues
preserved and abandoned
“What is it to be remembered?”

Silence was all he met
so he moved on to
literary sets

Asked each book
he had come to read
“How do you live on with your author dead?”

Multiple words
but not an answer to his search
and time was ticking, what a curse

Time, time, perhaps that’s who should be asked
“Oh Father Time, how do I persists
when my flesh no longer exists?”

“You look to things for the answers you seek
but everything has its peak
then falls, remembered only in a memory recalled.”

“So, people is the answer?”
he asked, fervent,
dying gasp ever-present.

“Not quite,” interjected Death,
“for people expire as things do too,
to be remembered then is an errand fool.”

“So there is no answer to my toil
I am to die, with nothing of me
left in the Earth’s soil
just a husk of a body,
my soul departed,
some broken-hearted.”

Tearful, he looks to Death
a question unspoken
itching to ask

Death offers him a token
“I think remembrance is a chore,
it is love that has brought you much more.
It may not have lasted long
and will surely be forgotten
but it brought hope and happiness
in this world so rotten.
So what does it matter if you are remembered
when you had cherished times together?”

He nodded, appreciating Death’s words
then he closed his book
took a stuttered breath
heart gave out, but still searching
What was my life all about?