Title: Sir or Madame

Please circle one.

Yesterday we dedicated my grandpa's grave, and I think I created a poem as I was standing there looking at it. It's rather morbid and doesn't reflect my entire view of death, just the finality of mortality, you know? Anyway, it went something like this:



He who once walked the face of the earth,
who tilled it and worked it,
and dwelt beneath the smiling sun
with loved ones near,
now lies under the ground,
alone and still.

He who flew across the sky
and o'er the seas and mountains
and whose heart loved its freedom,
now sleeps in a cold and final rest,
to fly no more.



Kinda weird, I know, and there's no rhythm or rhyme to it, really, so I don't know what it is. And my grandpa's death didn't really shatter my world or anything, I've just never been so intimately familiar with the whole post-death process before. But of course, we know that death is not the end. How could it? That would be lame. There would be no purpose, in which case it really wouldn't matter if death were the end anyway, and so the only person who can win that argument is the one who believes in the immortality, for the others are dead in their own shoes.

May my future posts be better.

"I'd like to continue working for free Mister Flugelman."