Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
You all know how I died, And I do not. But I hope it was a fantastic Spectacle of how to make your heart stop. I hope I died flying backwards in a crimson ball of flame, Or fighting off a tiger that never could to tame. I hope I died with a smile on my face, Beaming from ear to ear, Or laughing so that everyone around Could hear. I hope I died doing something To which my mother always said “No”, “But if we don’t try, How will we ever know?” I hope I died not waiting for Air to no longer suffice, Lying in a bed with a tube In every orifice. I hope you did not let me age And forget you, Because I would be Filled with regret too. So I hope it was a spectacular expression Of more than just existing, I hope they oohed and aahed while I flew through the air a-twisting. And I can see some of you are grieving, yet I know not why, Because this is a celebration of Life having been lived And not a sombre lullaby. So fill your glasses, Cups and jugs, And let’s see a smile on those Ugly old mugs. There’s a lesson too be learned, and that is clear to see. So without much further ado, “Here’s to me!”
0
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 7:30 AM UTC
To be read on the cliffs of Dover before firing my ashes from a cannon (offshore wind)
You all know how I died, And I do not. But I hope it was a fantastic Spectacle of how to make your heart stop. I hope I died flying backwards in a crimson ball of flame, Or fighting off a tiger that never could to tame. I hope I died with a smile on my face, Beaming from ear to ear, Or laughing so that everyone around Could hear. I hope I died doing something To which my mother always said “No”, “But if we don’t try, How will we ever know?” I hope I died not waiting for Air to no longer suffice, Lying in a bed with a tube In every orifice. I hope you did not let me age And forget you, Because I would be Filled with regret too. So I hope it was a spectacular expression Of more than just existing, I hope they oohed and aahed while I flew through the air a-twisting. And I can see some of you are grieving, yet I know not why, Because this is a celebration of Life having been lived And not a sombre lullaby. So fill your glasses, Cups and jugs, And let’s see a smile on those Ugly old mugs. There’s a lesson too be learned, and that is clear to see. So without much further ado, “Here’s to me!”
Written by
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 7:30 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem