(death Poem) An End To The Secret Garden Poem by Ace Of Black Hearts

A very important day some say.
But why limit it to one before the importance of it truly comes due?
A idolization of time itself.
Magnified and memorialized as if it's death is coming soon.
But how do you really know that?
A prediction that I neither heed too, or take for granted.
Why put the spin of fear and worry upon hypothesis not yet proven?
I just do what I always do.
Whether rain or shine.
Your pale imaginary foresight will not undermine my life or time.
If it is coming I accept it without any regret.
If not my plans still hold true to the future.
You say but isn't their things you want to do before you die?
A bucket list, is setting a limit that which I can do.
Goals to achieve, but what will you do when they're reached and their is nothing left to complete?
This is something I will not conceive.
A possibly exist that I have kissed.
It taste so sweet and one day we will meet.
In a garden of flowers, vegetables, and fruits.
I pick the wild strawberry that here will forever grow.
For it is yet untainted by human existence.
And when I meet you here it will be finally known.
A loss in my heart will start, as watch more and more come.
Pillage and plundering till not a single form of plant life is left.
And it will be my fault for I showed my secret garden.
A promise of burden.
A spread of disease.
A fire that burns.
Till all that is left is black charred remains and ashes.