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On Being Recycled
the worms tickle as they scour my flesh
I'm getting used to it
but soon, I won't know anything at all
in the meantime, I'll be reminiscing
on the late me and my former life
I was a silly man
unaccomplished
a fool
taking all for granted
and now I am dead
would this moment feel any different
had I been a king,
or world renowned,
or even a saint?
I think not!
tickling worms will always steal the show
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I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
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Comments
Lenny of Cohen
Tue, 2014-06-17 08:10
Charmingly
good and humorous piece of writing!
_________________________________________
"Death" is nonsense: what is there to die?
"Life"? How could " life" "die"? That is a contradiction
in terms. Can "light" become "darkness"?
"Light" can only cease to be apparent
Wei Wu Wei
scribbler
Tue, 2014-06-17 15:35
Hi
And the grass grows over all graves equally. As usual, I find no suggestions for change in your poem. You really ought to mess up once in a while so we'll all be able to see you aren't perfect lol.........stan
Ian.T
Wed, 2014-06-18 03:35
BL
As Stan says a great write, I can imagine you laying there with the worms tickling your bones lol, if only that was it.
Now you have thought it maybe the Gods will let you be momentarily tickled so that you arrive on the other side laughing..
Take care out there, Yours Ian.T
.
There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..