The End of Sentience

The day I die, thatís it. Iím Dead.
Remember whilst youíre sighing
That the act of life, of birth and being,
Includes the act of dying.

No mausoleum, no funeral pyre,
Just lay me in the earth.
Let my body restore a part of what
It has plundered since its birth.

No platitudes, no priests, no myths
Of life in the everlasting.
Remember me for what I was.
Perhaps, gently regret my passing.

Perhaps, think of me as in the breeze,
But always bear in mind
It's just a ploy to ease the thoughts
Of those we leave behind.

We all must die; and yet live on,
Though neither in heaven nor hell:
But through genes, passed on, and on again
Down timeís eternal swell.

And also through deeds. The consequence
Of what we do on Earth
Can affect the lives of thousands
Who have yet to discover birth.

Judge not a life by piety,
But by things for which it stood.
Not from pious fear of godly wrath,
But from belief in the might of good.

It's possible we'll meet again
But only if, some day,
Men learn to bend the rules of time
And travel back this way

For once Iíve died, thatís it. Iím dead!
My sentience ends that day.
It will not have an after-life:
I won't know if you pray.

Petter Finne
copyright, 20.06.2009. " The End of Sentience "
This poem, and the comments below, may be freely reproduced, provided the above author is given credit.

We should all do our bit to reduce the number of people dying - practise contraception!

The word funeral starts with ďFUNĒ - - please keep it that way

Itís the last event that my body may ever physically attend...
... Make sure thereís a damned good party!

Were I going to a carefree, unfettered party I wouldnít wear a fine, expensive suit...
... donít waste money on the coffin!
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