Hopes of the Deceased

Hopes of the Deceased
By: Samantha Stone

When I become the dust in your pale hands,
Being pulled slowly away
By the fingertips of the wind,
Pouring through the crevices
In your hands,
Into the open arms of the sky,
I hope you think of me.

As I settle on the soft earth,
Where I once stood.
Whole and living,
Blood pulsing through my veins,
Heart racing, nervous,
I hope I become your thoughts,
Your dreams,
Your way of life.
Memories swirling your mind,
Every second of the day.

I hope you can smell me all around you,
Hear me whispering secrets in the wind,
Taste me when you wake up in the morning,
Feel me laying next to you at night,
See me standing right in front of you.

When you begin to move on with your life,
And the memories begin to fade,
I hope I become a faint image,
A distant thought in the back of your mind.

And when you finally are yourself again,
Finally able to smile,
Finally happy again,
I hope you forget me.