BURIED ALONE

In the end, I have to see
one day it’s only dirt and me.
Buried alone, beneath the ground,
no loved ones left to stay around.

Strangers pass, the flowers fade,
lonelier still when light decays.
If sunny days can feel this hollow,
how dark will night be, when none follow?

So tell me
why do I still crave a hand to hold,
a voice to calm, a heart to fold?
Why do I keep leaning near,
when I know the end is clear?