Thursday, December 19, 2013


My own death mask has surely been prepared.
It waits upon a hook of natural time
And it is labelled never to be shared.
Unique, it fits no other face but mine.
I have no sense of what I was before
I found myself in this world’s brutal thrall.
There are no reminiscences of lore.
So what can there be after to appall?
Perhaps there is absence of chronic pain.
Could there be swift release from all regret
And freedom from quests to profit and gain?
None will condemn if I simply forget.
Donning my mask should bring to me no dread
For life’s sorrows can’t hurt me when I’m dead.

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