The Antidote to Meaninglessness

The abyss of time 
makes no distinctions 
between the hero and the villain.

In a hundred and fifty years,
I will be forgotten,
by lovers and leftovers,
kids and grandkids, alike,
and that is okay.

Hopefully, my books still
sit on shelves, old and weathered,
dog-eared and yellowed,
smelling of shelves and homes before.

A legacy is not something
you or I will ever see,
but hopefully, a few pages survive
in the hearts and minds
of the future which I won't see.