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arlene-corwinPoems
What Happens After Death? Bathing daily as I do, Listening to the radio, Emergencies, catastrophes, Boats sinking or aflame or both: What happens after death’s end breath? ‘The poisoned lung… the old, the young… The fire set on purpose, One hundred fifty-nine lives lost’ Through living skin I take it in: Corrupted ethics, trials. Why? August weather’s all but frosty. I, with plethora of food in fridge, Them there rigid, Stench of rot. I, desk full of paper, notes; Money to buy more. Stuff stuffed into each shelf and drawer; The closet door can hardly close for all those clothes, And I, asking ‘bout death and after. Am I daft to wonder, wander into guesswork’s trap? Or have I found a craft to cope, Yoga’s science and art of hope? For something must exist - a consciousness Not here, but in a sphere somewhere. It isn’t logical That something can become a nil – Something that has had a pulse. What else makes sense? This senseless chaos I sense is not chaos But some inner justice Somewhere, somehow in the universes of creation! In a sudden quickening of thinking In the probabilities of speculation Here I sit in bath’s ablution, asking questions About what happens after death? What Happens After Death? 8.9.2016 Birth, Death & In Between II; Arlene Corwin arlenecorwinpoetry.com/duanespoetree.com/Youtube
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Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 2:38 PM UTC
What Happens After Death? (of things that interest me)
What Happens After Death? Bathing daily as I do, Listening to the radio, Emergencies, catastrophes, Boats sinking or aflame or both: What happens after death’s end breath? ‘The poisoned lung… the old, the young… The fire set on purpose, One hundred fifty-nine lives lost’ Through living skin I take it in: Corrupted ethics, trials. Why? August weather’s all but frosty. I, with plethora of food in fridge, Them there rigid, Stench of rot. I, desk full of paper, notes; Money to buy more. Stuff stuffed into each shelf and drawer; The closet door can hardly close for all those clothes, And I, asking ‘bout death and after. Am I daft to wonder, wander into guesswork’s trap? Or have I found a craft to cope, Yoga’s science and art of hope? For something must exist - a consciousness Not here, but in a sphere somewhere. It isn’t logical That something can become a nil – Something that has had a pulse. What else makes sense? This senseless chaos I sense is not chaos But some inner justice Somewhere, somehow in the universes of creation! In a sudden quickening of thinking In the probabilities of speculation Here I sit in bath’s ablution, asking questions About what happens after death? What Happens After Death? 8.9.2016 Birth, Death & In Between II; Arlene Corwin arlenecorwinpoetry.com/duanespoetree.com/Youtube
Written by
arlene-corwin
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 2:38 PM UTC
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