MAG Poetry Competition 2011 – 4th Prize Winner
One Last Request
But this last thing I ask of you,
Will pose no challenge- will ask no ill,
Will not be written in my will.
What is this task of which I ask?
To place my body on the grass,
Before my breath has ceased to heave,
Before my soul has taken leave.
Just carry me to some wide field,
One in the country side- concealed,
A field up high, with views below,
Where pretty little flowers grow.
And as I leave my skin and bones,
There won't be any deathly moans,
There will be laughs, oh joyous day!
For with the wind my soul will play!
My final sight will be a treat,
My final breath will feel complete,
For as I go, I'll see the sky,
Oh what a pleasant way to die!
I choose to stay above the ground,
And decompose without a sound,
No shovel, no picks, no wooden box,
No heavy chiselled marble blocks.
My flesh will nourish plant and seed,
These bones of mine will still proceed,
To be support for life on earth,
To witness death and then rebirth.
I came from womb into a room,
All white and sterile- like a tomb,
The entry was no choice of mine,
But exit will be my design.