What would I do with me, without you?
Do any of us know what would be true?
More than I was, less than I have been,
A piece of me missing, no nib in my pen.
Scratching at life but leaving no mark,
Like rubbing two sticks, without spark.
Words are too weak, should I just quit?
Is it only your fire that keeps mine lit?
Is my dream fleeting, a passing cloud?
Will I know wisdom before my shroud?
Sewn into canvas, dropped into the sea,
Buried to nourish, a yet unplanted tree.
Life into death, into life, yet unknown,
Most likely the next life isn’t our own.
I wonder. The future’s all wait and see,
What’ll you do with you, without me?