Requiescamus in Pace, but RIP Me Not
RIP me not from duty binding,
When I still have work to do
And when the taste of orange is finding
Nothing better to pursue
Than the nose I wear in constant care
For fear the air might waft its scent
T'ward my despair
And thus create a stark event.
RIP me not, oh, age and calling,
From my tender, loving id.
Decrepit sense forestalling
An abyss that's off the grid.
I can tolerate the boredom
Of the countless, loveless days,
But I know I can't afford them
If they violate my ways.
RIP me not if only gently
From a sleepy afternoon.
I do often nap contently
Whether sun or whether moon.
RIP me not with cannon barking
On a field where young blood lies.
RIP me not with taggers marking
In gruesome detail my demise.
RIP me not until I'm ready;
That's the thing we're taught to do.
My existence is not petty;
RIP me not until I'm through!
(john-henry strathmann 20170924 0215)
Topic(s) of this poem: mission, mortality, purpose, demise, existence, living
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.