I’m not afraid of dying
but of being forgotten.
Of being accused of lying
and being rotten.
Of disappearing
a fading face
never reappearing
gone without a trace.
As if I was never here
a brain and memories scattered
not even worth a solitary tear
as if none of me mattered.
I don’t want fame
I just want to be remembered as a flame
just a place in someone’s soul
a sky they look at and think
she made me whole.
reflections of an unquiet mind 
It’s sobering to realize that after all the people who knew us while we lived have passed away, most of us will be forgotten. Exceptions to this of course are those who became famous through their achievements in music, literature, art, film, sports, politics, etc., as well as infamous through henious crimes or deeds.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Absolutely, I don’t like that thought either. The other day I was looking at old photographs from family gatherings with Patrick. He didn’t know half of the people in the photos and it sparked that thought again. I have it more often, I admit.
LikeLiked by 1 person