For the Maggot's Fun

Often times when we glance at the mirror Staring through its lens in powdered face. We marvel, we wonder and ponder Over the physical flesh. O! Do you sometimes cry Wishing you were carved from the finest of marble, Or you smile when showers of compliment flood your being? If only beauty was an antidote to death, What would have been the faith of an ugly lass who walked the street? So we eat to keep fit And swallow pints of pill To keep the body, And care not of the withering soul. If only the sight of a man's muscle Who has made a home of the gym could scare off death What would have become of a man who is as lean as a broom? So here I sit In this dark night Staring at the candle light, Listening to my thumping heart Linking mortality to futility. I can only reach you through words I can only implore your mind To trace back its step to reality. All the clamouring, And all the grumbling Of being ugly or beautiful Bothers not the treacherous death. When the body remains still And there seems to be no air in your lung's fill, Then you realise that this body is meant for the maggot's fun, When interred to mother earth.