If Tomorrow Starts Without Me

If tomorrow starts without me,
and the sun rises, indifferent to my absence,
the world will keep turning—
unaffected, uncaring,
like a wheel that moves on
with no regard for the broken pieces beneath it.
Death may come for this body,
a fleeting vessel of flesh and bone,
but it cannot touch what is eternal,
what beats in the chambers of my soul.
I know my soul will live forever,
in every word I wrote, in every thought I birthed,
every poem, every quote,
woven into the fabric of existence.

If tomorrow starts without me,
the world will go on,
not pausing for one life that’s gone,
not shedding a tear for the soul that slips away.
But I will not be erased.
For in the corners of time,
in the quiet of minds long after I’m gone,
my words will live.
They are not bound by the mortal world,
they are not imprisoned by time's cruel hands.
My soul, woven into the ink of my expressions,
lives on—
even when my body is dust,
even when my name fades into the winds of history.

Will my legacy endure?
Will my words ignite something—
a spark that ignites hearts and minds
to rise above the surface,
to reach beyond the noise,
to search for meaning in the spaces
where others fear to tread?
Will I be remembered as a flicker,
a fleeting fire that once burned bright
only to fade,
or will I be a beacon that guides
those who seek truth,
those who seek more than the hollow noise of the world?

In the eyes of some,
I will be nothing but a shadow,
a fleeting moment in a life of regret and judgment.
I’ll be their villain, their ghost,
someone they remember in bitterness,
someone who never fit into their mold.
And that’s okay.
I’ve never been here to please or accommodate the strangers.
I never needed their approval,
their fleeting affection,
their...