Hello you, welcome to my home !
It's a sunny day today, yet have you come alone ?

Listen around to the trees and their green leaves,
hear the slow sprouting boil around gently,
it seems as if this place is simmering :
a true piece of paradise
out of time.

You've come to this cemeteray, the Cimetière Pere Lachaise no less,
to see Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde, Chopin i suppose ?
Wise man, their tombs are monuments
and they are very sweet ghosts.

But I can see you've stopped your mind just now on a
secondary sepulture, on a winding path few explore
that is my home, this is my voice.

I know it's pretty right ?
It dosen't look half as good in winter, it's so grim,
yet with all these bees, and trees and yellow and sun
and crimson and blue and white, i bet you've never
seen a prettier picnic place.

I died 20 years ago, you weren't born.
It's okay, it didn't hurt much, and when you die
you sort of get to choose what you do,
you can roam around, you can disapear,
you can stay near your grave,
you can even wait for someone dear,
though that's what i think they call hell.

I choose to wake up every summer,
when it gets warm, i get to feel alive again,
i get to wander the park and rush elbows with people
and tourists, i look at the colorful clothes.

When you die you become sort of eternal,
like an idea of yourself
you aren't
you aren't any longer
thirsty or hungry,
nor sad or happy,
you sort of live in the forever
it dosen't feel bad to be honest.

Anyway, you can stay a little longer, i don't get much visits
thanks for looking at my stones,
and don't forget that life is the
sweetest thing
the universe has ever
blossomed
*Carpe Diem