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Forgotten

by Rosa Lee

If I were Byron would you know my words?
Would you feel the emotions I write?
Or would I be a nameless poet
who has gone into the light?

Would you hold my words close to your heart
as you sit by the fireside?
Would your pain come gushing out in tears
that you'd no longer hide?

Would the things I feel affect you
as they do not do today?
Would I be unforgettable
if a book told you what I had to say?

Or would I still sit on a shelf
and things just go unchanged?
As you wander through my Library of Life
and say that I'm deranged.

Here's a book called, "How I Love You"
and one called, "If I Cry".
You shuffle quickly past this one;
it's labelled, "Inside Me as I Die".

You haven't stopped to read my words
in such a long time now.
I wonder if you will again
or if you remember how.

You see the author's name on these
I'm sure you recognize it.
They are written by someone you loved
for her intelligence and wit.

The name is so familiar
as you stop and turn the page.
Could it be this dead poet's words
are from this day and age?

A face appears before you now
whenever you close your eyes.
Her words are coming back to you,
"Through poems, no one dies."

It's not too late to resurrect me,
from these dusty old remains.
If you would feel my thoughts again
you would understand my pains.

Do you remember me?

I faded into the midst of the world for a time, caught in the joys of living. 

I mean, why would you remember, for as I recall, there was not much I could do before. Why return, you may ask.

Why did I return? Was it because I was fed up with sitting on the shelf? Mingling in the world? Living where others lived?

Was it just my time to return? Or on that matter, Destiny?

I don't know about that.

What I do know is that I've got stories to tell too.

And there isn't anyone who can deny me of that.