Eulogy
They buried me
In a box of oak wood,
In a soft plot of land.
Now, the green grass grows
On the surface
Over the space
Where my body lies.
I guess my muscles and skin
Deteriorate in the fertile soil,
Rotting away in the rain
As it erodes the landscape above,
As other peoples' footprints
Sink on top of the spot
Where I am buried.
The weather continues
While I do not,
But someone once told me
That I will live forever
As long as I cared for others,
Or as long as they cared for
Me.
Maybe that's what heaven is.
Maybe
That's
What
Heaven
Is.
I don't know.
I'm not sure where my soul is.
It could be taking a break
Or it might've found a new job
Or something.
Whatever. It's not here:
With me.
I'm just laying down,
A carcass in a casket,
So perhaps it got bored
From waiting around,
Anticipating that I'd get up
And take a few more steps
Forward—in any direction.
But I don't
I'm stiff and I'm starting to smell,
My whole body is tight and clenched,
Yet somehow saggy and bruised
Like a three week old nectarine.
My skin winkles from decay.
I don't worry about it.
I can't.
[...] Read more
poem by Tim Stensloff
Added by Poetry Lover
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