In light of my blog post two weeks ago about my afternoon stroll through a graveyard with my girlfriend (which you can read here), I thought I’d share a humourous poem about death I’d been working on, on-and-off, for a couple of months. It was a bit experimental. I held myself to the strict rules that each line had to be seven syllables and always a question (given, some of the questions fit the term loosely). And then, of course, I like to rhyme (even if it’s not the fashionable way to write poetry in the Modern Age). I don’t write poetry very often, and I think I’m a decent poet at best, but I do love a good poem, when it’s well written. I hope you enjoy this one. I’ll be sure to upload it to the writing section posthaste.
When You Die?
How will you feel when you die?
Will you laugh or will you cry?
Burned to ash or in the earth?
What’s it to you? What’s it worth?
But have you thought, I wonder?
What’s it like to go under?
Rest in peace, don’t you assume?
Urn placed in a noisy room?
What if your neighbor’s a bore?
Or she has an awful snore?
What if you can still feel pain?
Have an itch or poorly lain?
What if your legs need a stretch?
Read a book or make a sketch?
Fulfill an urge? Take a piss?
How will you cope with all this?
Losing your eyes and your hair?
What about the smell down there?
What if someone kicks your urn?
Covered in mold or a worm?
What if you get tummy groans?
Or a dog digs up your bones?
What if someone likes bone stew?
Uses your ash for a hue?
Makes your marrow into salt?
How will this be made to halt?
So much to consider, yes?
Isn’t it a horrid mess?
You won’t despair this, will you?
Something else you’d rather do?
That’s not the game, don’t you know?
Where else would you like to go?
Perhaps there’s another way?
What is this nonsense you say?
Where but in the ground to lie?
What else to do, but to die?