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When death comes

I’ll need not love

Consumed,

No wreath or dove

Could offer me salvation,

Not when I’m no more.

 

A weathered stone will bear my name

Identity of once a being

Living out existence in

A world of risk, and never seeing

Sense of why we’re here.

 

My genes will die away thro’ child

Hue of eyes and hair, the way of thought,

Will quickly dim with generation

Bow to future dominance

Memories of provenance

Resigned to curious few.

 

When death comes

I’ll need not grace

Below; no grieving face

Will call my resurrection,

Not when I’m at ground

 

Death and I so bound.

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