at some point sit down with
reality,
and ask ourselves,
who gets it all
when I'm gone.
the wayward child?
estranged and far
away
in body and soul.
a friend,
a lover,
a sibling?
who gets the house,
the cars,
the books and clothes.
who comes
and claims it for themselves?
or do you give
it all to charity,
an orphanage perhaps,
or invent a scholarship
for worthy
students,
attempting to reveal
the world
in poetry and prose?
maybe
a stranger, someone you don't
yet know.
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