When I die, will I have a funeral?
Will my family cry, will my friends wonder why
Life plucked me away too soon,
Before the sun burnt out?
Will my funeral be noisy,
Or will it be quiet?
Will people reflect on my life or theirs?
Will they wish they had a funeral like mine?
Will there be eulogies?
Will there be prayers?
Will there be unspoken wishes?
Who will be there?
The skies turn red,
Bleeding the answers into the clouds,
Can the humans see it?
Can they read what it says?
I know not what the future holds,
What life has in store for me.
But I do know that I’ll look at the sky
And wonder “Why, why me?”