our lives to have meaning.
to leave a legacy of sorts.
to be remembered
for who we are
or who we pretend to be.
we take pictures,
we keep diaries
we mark dates on the calendar.
the scrap books.
the memorabilia
fills our closets, our trunks
in the basement.
but in the end it all ends
up in some scrap
heap, or in a fire.
the dump at last will claim
us and all our things
with no fan fare.
our time is up.
we are forgotten.
who's next?
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