The Death Of Us Poem by Cory Huennekens

I still remember the day I died, that rainy October day, drinking a glass of water, watching the rain wash it all away. And while I had considered it many times, now and then, in both good and bad times. Some think death is romantic, that to die this way or that, is somehow better or somehow lacks. But in truth it’s all the same, dying isn’t some heroic game. People might watch your movie or read your little book, because your sad train wreck life makes a good hook... But no one watches their own movie when they’re dead, no one reads their own book and nods their head. The dead truly receive no praise, no wreath on their head. Death scares us, scares me, scares you, scares us together, although us makes it a little better. That poor man on the street, matted beard, dirty clothes, death haunts him alone, alone he is haunted. There is no us for him. So I stared out at the rain through the giant window and thought of me, us, and the poor man. Cinematize your death, because that’s the closest you’ll get hero. Praises don’t fall on Achilles ears, his gold is tarnished, what will save your treasure?