A Death Poem

If I died today,
what would people say—
what impression made
by the body laid
before God to rest—
would they call me blessed?
Looking at my life,
at the joys and strife,
what accomplishments
or great detriments
would they ruminate
upon, cursing fate
for such tragedy...
or might already
they be feasting – prawn
buffet?! (Carry on...)
The material,
post-funereal
division of things
via will: meanings
attached, forgotten,
invented, rotten,
or non-existent,
will, in this instant,
be fondly recalled,
like memories scrawled
in permanent ink;
my transient link
to some remembrance
of my brief presence
in this eternal
world. My infernal
destiny awaits—
perhaps Pearly Gates
may be my future;
I'm really not sure
what I believe in:
creationist Sin
or karmic rebirth,
an evolving earth
or nihilistic
nothingness. My pick,
personally, would
be to live, but should
I discover my
life truncated, I
would hope they will save
some room in my grave
for what little wealth
I've garnered in health:
not for my spirit's
stingy benefits,
but rather to pay
for the ferried way
into the heaven
or hell I am given.

TMK 13nov2008