Death

A humorous poem

How would you like your death announced?

In joyous bells, sweet song through the town

Or a solemn dirge, sung in an otherwise quiet church?

Don't mind me much, it's completely your choice

but I must make a sale you see.

Whether they throw flowers and toast to your glory

Whether they dress in black and weep til morning,

it makes no difference to me.

 

If the fanfare isn't your thing

obscurity is always an option.

But an ego, such a fragile thing, can't bear it.

A forgotten grave where moss makes its home,

too melodramatic for me.

Alas, you humans are so strange.

There's a ticking.

Can't you hear it?

It seems your time is fast approaching.

 

So what is your choice

poor soul so close to the end?

Is it joy?

Is it sorrow?

Or a darkness with no light?

I don't mean to rush, but there's the sake of my sale.

Nothing left for you to mend.

And the reaper will not be kept waiting.

Author's Note

This is one of my favorite poems, but I know it can be refined.