sometimes i panic:

my body is but a shell
for the soul hidden deep within
my mortality creeps up on me
at the strangest of times
sometime i panic
in the early hours of the morning
i wonder: will my keeper
mourn my passing?
another name for the history books
another life lived, but forgotten
maybe a footnote in the story of time
because i did great things
sometimes i panic
i, too, will die one day
my body will rot in the ground
i will be mourned, then slowly forgotten
and all the things i loved
my pictures and my books
will lose their splendour in the eyes of another
eternity seems so long
for one so used to linearity
what comes after forever?
what comes at the end?
i think it’s love.
but sometimes i panic.
cuz, what if there’s nothing…