bucket list

someday, I will die,
and in that moment,
when one door closes
and another opens,
the only thing that will fill me
is the silent space
between the two,
where everything becomes
meaningless -
what I lived for,
what and who I loved,
what I yearned for,
who I touched, or not,
what the world was before me,
and what it might become,
what poems I birthed
and miscarried,
the roads taken or not,
the worlds discovered
and those still virgin
and uncharted
for those to come after me,
and a bucket list
that will be my shroud,
and carry me
into the fires
of a life simply lived
for its own sake.