Some people will have
Less than even a haiku
To mark their passing
Who will remember
This man, this woman, their lives
With at least one word?
Forgotten by all?
Nothing worth a lasting note?
This fate, quite common.
Elders and parents.
Refugees from old countries.
Veterans and priests.
Students stare at me.
“This does not apply to me.”
They take some selfies.
Victims on the news?
Abstractions, like their mentors.
What is there to say?
How futile it seems,
To battle for tomorrow,
Odd posterity.
Haiku or whisper,
This poem is a ghost. Haunts.
You will recall this.
But not who it was
Written for in the first place.
Even if it’s you.
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