Wednesday, 16 October 2013

Bury me Standing

 When I die
 bury me standing;
 don’t lay me flat,
 stretched out on my back
 staring up into the night sky,
 stand me straight,
 plant me upright,
 plant me like a tree,
 bury me with dignity.

 When I die
 bury me standing,
 make sure you put boots
 on my naked feet
 so I cannot feel
 the worms feasting,
 so as I stand I can see
 what is happening around me.

 I’ll be dead for a long, long time
 so stand me upright
 not flat, like stinking meat
 on a cold, hard slab
 waiting for butcher Fate,
 with his bloodied apron
 to slice me asunder.

 Stand me up,
 push my lips into a grin,
 stick a pen in my hand,
 paper in the other;
 let me stand facing sunrise
 with a thousand new poems
 ready for the capture.

 When I die
 don’t listen to the undertaker
 stand me straight,
 drop me down deep;
 let me face the future
 as if I was still in the wings
 waiting for my cue
 to make another grand entry.

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