brittle light
brittle light
Jun 17, 2014

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

About This Poem

Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back

Editing Stage: Editing - draft

About the Author

Region, Country: upstate New York USA, USA

More from this author

Comments

S

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

Ian.T

10 years 10 months ago

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