Realigning

When words die

When words die, am I buried with its gold casket?
am I the one  who will curtain the cold casket?

if death does come true, will my love go away?
will I be held in a hole with the old casket?

asking questions if I said the truth by its name,
I hope none of the name is a chokehold casket

as I will not die, but live in eternity
in dreams, in a thought so red like a bold casket

when words die, my love will never leave with no hugs
it will become to itself a household casket

Ruddapoet