an illusion, a facade,

who cares what the world says
when he is no more
if it is  right or wrong
no more to score
the life will move on
but will remain behind
some footprints
grass will grow in a few
and in some, will grow wild mints
the aroma of which will attract you
from  places far and near
to find what,
an illusion, a facade,
or a deeply entangled soul, my dear