The body: still warm and seemingly alive.
Like the morning bed remembering still
Dreams and fancies of the past night.
The body: still warm, but alive no more,
As the breath just left it forever behind.
The dawn with her lucent sword has
The stem of the last dream cut off.
There is no turning back to that body
Or dream, despite the grief and pain
For their ending, and soon vanishing away.
Death comes for a reason of justice:
There is more within a soul than
What a body can possibly dream of.
This More is mostly nameless and unknown,
Yet it’s there, and with gentle voiceless
Urgency demands and needs to be
Listened to, acknowledged, lived maybe.
No matter how long is the ignorance, it will
Eventually appeal to its right and call
Death as its faceless executor. —So we die.
The body: still warm, but not for long,
Already becoming senseless matter again.
There is but a split moment to take
This abysmal decision: again, or never again?
Here the greatest freedom lies, the heaviest
Choice, the hardest challenge of love.
Before the past begins to rotten and smell,
What shall you do? Time is no more,
Reasons vanish like fog in the winds,
Space collapses in one point where
There is room only for a unique say:
Back again? Or something entirely Other?
I trust in the unknown, I trust the
Dark belly of chaos and emptiness. I move.
I shall honor this body still warm but dead
Not by seeking a convenient replacement
But by sliding in the formless freedom ahead.
The body: cold and still. Dreams are
Gone. The day moves on. Me too.