501 - See you later, Mr Reaper

This soft thin cage, this body of paper-
Like skin, stretched increasingly saggily
Over the shin, the pelvis, scapula,
Will finish and diminish gradually.
The heart will start to stop when it’s weary,
For all things wear out, to be recycled
In myriad new forms, dead or lively,
In mirrors of old forms, smooth or wrinkled.
When sinking feelings come, Death says “I called,
But you weren’t in. Maybe I’ll try later.”
I say “Okay. Though I don’t usually
Open the door, especially when it’s cold,
You seem like a nice chap.” This thin layer
Will then be stripped and shredded painlessly.
Fri 18 Jan 2008