The idea of my death is ever present and hones my behavior:
WHEN THEY FIND MY BONES
When they find my bones,
will they know their history,
will they recognize the delicate moments
will they trace the poignancy
the joy and the laughter.
When they find my bones,
will memories be etched upon them,
from the hollow of my rib cage
will the heart leave its shadow
or some tell-tale dust to mark its
infatuations and its passions,
will the line of my pelvis
give an indication of its bygone libido.
When they find my bones,
will they detect the scars and the mending,
the time of my passing
and all its laments.
When they find my bones,
will the spirit of my presence
reside with them.
When they find my bones
will humanity remain
haunted by the darkness.
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