Words to death

S.M.

I write my poems in my dreams,
With only your image that keeps,
My nights in happiness and breeze
Adding to my life the means.

The world has never been a story,
But then, we shouldn`t write at all;
The poets, poems in our glory,
Still find the meaning of a dawn.

And then we mirror our own life,
In silent words that still make noise,
Among the youngsters still at school,
And all of them that have a choice.

Just like the greater poets said,
When I will perish - "He`ll be dead",
"His poems are still graved in white",
And I replied to such a story -

....that I still am, and yes I might.