Death Sentence

Die, with on my lips ‘is that all there is?’
‘Is that all I’ve been granted access to?’
I have lived quite long, but what have I missed?
Aware, I’d say, but much I never knew.

There are so many treasures on this earth.
Not just those materially deemed so.
Nature, and beauty, and love, I think first.
Like more of those wonders before I go.

I have been lucky. My senses pleasured.
I have not been greedy; demanded more.
But why must this enjoyment be severed?
What are the limits put on living for?

There is so much more could experience.
Before shutdown, teased with the evidence.

A sprig of rosemary, what he told me
he was going to pluck from the garden
in the park, to wear exceptionally
in his lapel. By this motif heartened,

as be off, later, to the funeral
of his beloved sister, departed.
Disabled. She suffered so, he recalled.
From that, he whispered, “relief” imparted.

At the end of the burial service,
when coffin containing her, in the ground,
and those gathered to mourn, soon to disperse,
he would take the plant and without a sound

put it in the earth with her, and express,
if heard, quiet, or just in mind, “God bless”.

Bewilderment, a reaction to death.
Disbelief at what it means for my life.
Ends. Obliteration, so nothing left.
No coming back. No more, to be precise.

Bewilderment. What is it will happen?
Bodily, then, all to discontinue.
Any control, death force to abandon.
Useless, all muscle, every sinew.

Bewilderment. As if an innocent.
Given the sentence to make me absent.
Protest pointless. Simply dismissed, dissent.
Proof, I will die and be dead, evident.

Being alive, can think as excellent.
But about death beyond, bewilderment.

I realise what it is, ‘a slump death’.
It is a slump-laden dying process.
Sitting heavily, not using much breath.
Not the exercise to stretch it, I guess.

Body still carrying more than needed,
but not putting more on; wasting away.
Strength once sure, gradually receded.
To lift oneself, a difficult display.

All that represents physical decline,
but there’s a deterioration, too,
mentally. A slowing-down of the mind.
It’s heard in speech; hesitation comes through.

A slurring, stopping, giving-up trying.
My phrase, ‘a slump death’. Slump-laden dying.

Someone lost their life in that house. Poor soul.
He was targeted by thugs for murder.
They arrived determined to meet their goal.
Weapons ready. It was a blood-curdler.

Killers likely acted on a grievance.
Perhaps it was thought an act of revenge.
A debt unpaid may have given offence.
A witness risk, this way brought to an end.

More than one attended to do ‘the job’,
so could put it down as ‘gang-related’.
Setting an example, to fear ‘the mob’.
What to expect, if get aggravated.

So vicious, though, the police were galvanised.
Made arrests, and the reason realised.

In death I will dematerialise.
I shall not be in any shape or form
that could be recognised, I realise.
Will be non-existence, in which re-born.

Ahead, dematerialisation.
Will resemble nobody. No body.
Be immaterial, observation.
Some bone, or ash, but not a lot to see.

Morbid, but it will materialise.
Decompose as rot, or turned into ash.
No choice. Such, for all living, fate decides.
The miracle of life has this attached.

It is irrelevant to criticise.
I will, like all, dematerialise.

Leave the scene, and in the missing, replaced.
The absence thought possibly permanent.
No reason known. Just as if been erased.
Gone elsewhere? For that, not needing assent.

But was a mistake, for which not to blame.
‘An accident’, too kindly description.
Assault by third party causing the pain.
Away for treatment for the affliction.

As a consequence, though, arrangement changed.
Another moved-in, in place, to partner.
And before knew, original exchanged.
Not a case of ‘happy ever after’,

For the swan on its own … and then no more.
Death or new life? Now missing, not that sure.

I can stay ahead … for the time being.
Although know fate just behind slipstreaming.
In direction set, blindly achieving.
Little expected, for now exceeding.

Alive. On purpose pursue that purpose;
even though can be factors, haphazard,
introduced, which could resemble tyre burst.
Metaphor that, but caused-stoppage matters;

and, perhaps, subsequent re-direction.
Fate slightly intervening whilst it wait.
Could argue, gives chance for introspection,
and to re-think the plan, before too late.

Fate, hammer-holding, in due course, catch up.
Outruns me. But for now, it just keeps-up.

The earth, repository of the dead
of all sorts of species from bygone age.
Natural recycling, it could be said.
Departed from, what was then, futile rage.

The anxiety. Of course, there would be.
The dying of what it is that’s being.
For most, know the earth the deposit’ry
of remains of that left without meaning.

As was said, some down the throat of the sea.
But the earth down as main recipient.
And whatever built-on, reasonably,
to what’s below, feel that indifferent,

unless oil, coal, gas from the dead forests.
Otherwise, fact of all that’s down there, missed.

It does not matter. There will be no blame.
No inquest with ‘whose fault’ to ascertain;
interrogation forcing to explain;
or full investigation set in train.

No; just an inevitability.
It simply matter of ‘happened to be’.
Must accept its acceptability.
Not case of irresponsibility.

All the evidence to the contrary.
Was always looked after honourably.
Would have to admit, indomitably.
Was not left uncared-for; solitary.

Can say, for sure, did their duty, instead,
the loved-ones of the person who’s now dead.