My death

This is a poem about death.
More specifically my dying
First the horror.
A corpse is a disgusting thing
More useless than dung
As Heraclitus tells us.

My body
Remember age nine
Undressing in my bedroom
The rudeness and delight
Of self discovery
Now
Cancer rot.
What happened to my left leg?
Into the incinerator.

The Breton philosopher La Mettrie
Said dying could be a voluptuous experience.
He was a doctor and had seen much of it.
He recommended opium.

My soul
The idea of a soul
And eternal recurrence.
Such a discovery
Might just hit on the truth.

Aristotle however
Says the soul
Is only the form of the body.
But what sort of existence
Do forms have?

The crown
And from a different viewpoint
Death can be the crown of life
If what had to be has been done
My message gone out to the world
With some expectation
Of becoming a famous poet
Posthumously
This is some insight
But all is change.
I may take consolation
From those who love me.

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