By the Time you read This

By the time you read this I’ll be alive, but I suppose that won’t always be the case. Death is as inescapable as tuna casserole at least once a season or as unavoidable as smiling when you see that person, at least just a little. Even if you don’t want to. I’m writing to you to tell you not to be afraid. One moment I was alive with sunlight in my veins and lighting in my eyes, the next moment the sun faded to darkness and the storm passed. It was not an event, but the passing of one. No more exciting than the sunset. Remember that time we ate snails in the fancy restaurant? They weren’t as bad as expected, but still an odd texture, I hear that’s what the snails said about us. The dirt masks our smile or the one forced upon us, but does it really matter now? The Arthropods, the annelids, the nematodes, they feast on our flesh like a dusty town that has struck gold. They come from nowhere in hopes of striking it rich. Helpless dreamers in a world we care not to think of. Our solids turn to liquid like an ice cube in the sun, but this does not concern us now. Our accommodating corpse makes homage for a world of microscopic entrepreneurs. Our once empty stomach and once empty heart finally feel full, but does this matter now? The bones that held firm like the Golden Gate Bridge now lie pointless and dry like a forgotten rose. Day by day, month by month, year by year, we fade from memory and fade in our composition, but it does not concern us. Our sacrifice was not made in vain. With each day that we digress, we rejoin Mother Nature in her motherly arms. Giving our life or what once was considered such to the trees, to the soil, to the earthworms, and too all who stopped to take a bite. This is not the end, just another beginning.

This poem is about: 
Me

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