Funereal Whispers.

Lost and I will not be found again
Like water melting into thirsty sand.
Or words breathed but left unattended
Or perhaps turned away.

Failed and I will not triumph again
Like precious silk but weak at each thread.
Or a pen that stopped squirting ink
on the last page of life.

Defeated by none but self.
With no will to live a tear-drop more
Or a smile that tried but never
manifested on your chipped lips.
Or kind things that only ever your
thoughts left but never expressed.

Am I even a blip on your canvas?
A fading spot of carcass perhaps.
Or maybe nothing but a numb
thorn to curse and pluck out to shun away.