In Praise of Decay
When I die, please leave me be.
Let me bloat, putrefy, rot,
be compost, once my soul flies free.
Take me to the woods and leave me there.
Let the coyotes chaw my bones and mice
make nests of hair.
The crows may have my eyes.
My skin, a nursery sweet for flies.
And all the bits within, a playground
for mycelium.
When I die, please leave me be.
Don’t fill this body with chemicals
I’d rather become a tree.
All my carbon, nitrogen, calcium
flowing up through roots
and out to limbs.
Where once again I will breathe,
leaping from a thousand leaves.
I always knew I should, be one with my
beloved woods.
When I die, please leave me be.
I know you need to mourn
but I’m no longer me.
I wore this suit for many years
I’m done with it,
and have no fear.
In death, I can be everywhere
soil, water, flowing air.
I hope that you can plainly see, in death it’s best
to leave me be.
Disclaimer: I’m not a poet. I have never really worked on the craft of it. But these lines have been batting around my head for a few months, this morning I let them out.
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