Putrefaction gives no satisfaction.
Rotting flesh may, more likely, cause distress.
Would not want this to cause agitation.
Be unaware that happening, God bless.

But, will be enough to make one’s flesh crawl.
Body alive as it’s decomposing.
Nothing about it later to recall.
A fleshing out, whilst seemed that reposing.

Bloating. Any gloating left to others.
The smell of foulness, one name does address.
The after-life, don’t know, but uncovers.
It rules. And with insistence, its excess.

A stripping down, unable to resist.
Death the name. To its mill, we’ll all be grist.


It does not resolve anything for me;
does not give me absolute peace of mind,
knowing that destroyed by death I will be.
To, what that means for me, I’m not resigned.

It is a prospect I do not relish.
Why has it to be inevitable?
I can’t find any way to embellish,
superstitious or intellectual.

Brings to end. Life matters, thereby resolved.
But what’s beyond for me is horrible.
Just much too powerful. Will have me fold.
And I know it. Don’t need an oracle.

I feel within me an utter sadness.
That I will no longer be; it’s madness.


What a perspective on life. And death, too.
The importance of devouring others.
I have come to believe that this is true,
to deeper extent than ‘teaching’ covers.

Eating for sustenance, growth and pleasure.
Use previously living things for this.
Their murders, industrial endeavour.
Against such force, no life-form can resist.

Programme talked of conditions for first life.
Hydrogen. Carbon. Rock and Oxygen.
Cells then ate what around. Ate the first life.
Feeding a factor from the origin.

And humans not escape the hungry ones.
Dead matter, potential for feed, becomes.


Oh. No. Turn to dust. You. Me. Turn to dust.
Here we are full of water. Skin porous.
Oxygenated lives. In God, some trust.
Turn to dust. Our future laid before us.

Oh No. Turn to dust. Oh. No. Go we must.
Cannot stay. If did, it would be like hell.
We’d be scrapheap models, all full of rust.
Unwanted by others; ourselves as well.

You and me, two amongst the billions.
Hanging on to hear words of hope, that said.
But same as ‘no longer here’ billions,
at the time, then forever, we’ll be dead.

Scared. Say ‘Oh. No.’ But in the end, we just
have to accept it. We will turn to dust.


How incredible that face disappears
recognised as being familiar.
Half-expecting that, sometime, re-appear.
Now, though, … memory, dream, hysteria.

The actual facial features decayed.
Skin peels, on the way to bare skull and dust.
That not see again, those closest dismays.
But where that friendly face has gone, nonplussed.

Of course, will be similar looks around.
Aspects in tribe, sibling, son and daughter.
But the one now dead, burnt or underground,
dissolved from sight like fully steamed water.

Neither see from it again, or be seen,
that face which knew so well. It will have been.


I was told “there’s no pockets in a shroud”.
Being generous before it’s too late,
was the meaning, so the spending’s allowed.
It’s only money. What’s that, set to fate.

Can be lifted to see new horizons,
with good fortune, you and me together.
Promote friendships, before the horror comes.
Able to do so, won’t be forever.

It’s like one person, where there are many.
Becomes forgotten in the day to day.
Barely equivalent of a penny,
against all paying out along the way.

And, then, they’ll be nothing, but what one’s in.
A shroud over. No more cash pocketing.


It’s there with me all the time. Death. My death.
To be … , me, the subject of erasure.
Happen before there’s time to catch my breath.
My fate is ultimate closure for sure.

I live with it carried around by me.
Persistently present. On my shoulders.
Stalking. Piggy-backing so I can’t see.
On my mind. Seems free, but to it soldered.

Is it a parasite? A blood sucker?
Emerges to frighten, demoralise.
Says, my life in future it will bugger.
Private thought, at times, will monopolise.

Stabiliser? Down-sizer? Up-raiser?,
Whatever its purpose, this erasure.


One day in future the earth will explode.
Will happen in time, the apocalypse.
Or, atmosphere, poison gas overload.
Make impossible for life to exist.

Could go off-orbit, hurtling into space.
A day then be unrecognisable.
Or, crash into the Sun, in all due haste.
All projects, then, unrealisable.

To a black hole. All material crushed.
Gone for good, existence as we know it.
What left, uninhabitable. All hushed
on the surface, but also below it.

I feared for my kind at such destruction
But I won’t exist. Early induction.


My sincere condolences to myself.
My best wishes to me at this sad time.
In fact it’s the peak of sadness itself,
so prepared in advance this verse of mine.

I am grateful for these blessings to me.
At least, by me, here, I am remembered.
I know it’s me by my identity.
Hope this eulogy’s not too self-centred.

Anyway, to me I was large as life.
I can honestly say I lived it all.
Thanks as well to my long-suffering wife.
Hope not too bad for her when me recall.

To know me’s certainly been my pleasure.
Then, life of me, will forget forever.