There is this independent part of me
That can never quite grow old
Wisdom imbedding, all the days of my life
Fosters the lie I am feeling, ‘that is so real to me’
Mortality, the signs are inscribed on my face
Browsing the ranks of the dead
I feel sorry and a small measure of gratitude
It’s always others that do the dying
Now I do declare the cremations path for me
Compost and mulch for mother earth, not my way
Once the ghost has left my shell
Organs harvested, ashes through the grate that’s me done
Now about that part of me that can never grow old
Explained: - the eternal blip, that part is who ‘I am’
Never to face the indignity of death
Birthing for all infinity
Nice idea I say! hope I got it right?
If not, who is going to tell?
