John and I were looking at a random internet posting of unusual gravestones last night, and while I understand the desire to leave a mark after death, almost all of the novelty gravestones were, quite frankly, horribly tacky. John also liked some of them a little too much for my comfort. I think it would be wise to make my wishes known publicly now, before it’s not too late to stop him from commissioning some gauche eyesore to mark my burial place. Here’s the next installment of “fairly bad poetry I wrote in my journal who-knows-how-long ago.”
When death comes (it does),
raze this temple by the open sea,
beneath the soaring stars.
Sow the ground with ashes,
where the cherry blossoms sleep.
Do not weep.
Tell a tale.
Remember the fallen and
when death comes (it does),
lay your bones beneath my tree.
Watch the cherry blossoms fall