Final Punctuation
moribund she wondered what
the postmortem would leave
other than a dead body and wounds
made by the many scalpels of life
operations gone wrong and stitch-ups
with sutures festering at the seams
as a mere mortal she had not chosen
the coffin head stone and grave
as one should not mess with writings
on the wall of reputation and fame
a quick eulogy and lies about her being
heavily edited script and funeral banquet
roses near the pit how she hated the thorns
would have preferred a blackberry hedge
dandelion and nettles for butterflies to feed
a cardboard box instead of marble and wood
for a worm feast of mortal impermanence
better to close the shutters than holding on
to a story she had narrated in full view of
short lived longevity in transit of past merit
and yet she lived on in memories and
the grace that she deserved for always
sticking to the belief and sturdy conviction
embraced by compassion and kindness
captured in a hole in the grounds of demise
entangled in truths conjecture and refutation
she watched on as they just would not let go
of remembrance and the dance of the dead
until they read a poem she had written
as she shuddered at the misplaced apostrophe
‘live and let; die as you please’
26th July 2021
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