A few forgotten pictures filled the room-
Remnants of despair, dismay and gloom.
Empty things like shattered vials of stale perfume,
and faded scent of flowers late to bloom.
The things supposed to take us to our tomb
become the tracks that lead us to our doom.

Flowers never should adorn an empty room;
Open blossoms should not ever lead to gloom,
Life should glory in the laugh of their perfume.
Life should glory in the beauty of the bloom.
Withered weeds should mark the entrance of a tomb...
Nothing beautiful should mark the path of doom.

Far too many of us leave an empty room;
We leave the trifles lost inside the gloom.
The blossoms in our life leave no perfume,
We plant and nurture weeds that never bloom.
What is left upon our memory and our tomb
is the epitaph well-written in our doom.

Toss my ashes to the floor within the room,
Open curtains to dispel the dismal gloom.
Bring in flowers to fill the air with their perfume,
Fill the vase with water, let them bloom.
Let no beaten, trodden path lead to my tomb...
Sing my praises so my death is not my doom.

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