.

 

                      Insignia

Bring me Sickness with my Health

  That I may Feel a Little Death—

Auction off my Tools of Steel

  That I may Dig, with Filthy Hands. 

                            ~

And let me Stand, by Lying First

  Face-down in a Bed of Dirt—

With heavy Weights upon my back

  And Cameras rolling to film the Act.

                            ~

And watch the Rain come down and turn

  My Bed into an Alter-Urn—

Then Watch as I with Foul Face

  Mock the Worms that Drown in Grace

                            ~

By Standing up so Tall and Proud

  Proclaiming something, somewhat loud—

As if to say, "I've Cheated Death!"—

  When in Reality, I could use the Rest.

                            ~

But we All know Poets—how they Lie!—

  We want to Taste, without the Weight—

Cowards really,—or perhaps we're Brave

  Enough to Touch, but never Save?

                            ~

For what has Eyes upon its Pain

  Cannot Face Death the Normal Way—

It may live past its Expiration—

 "The Good die young"—our Exoneration—

                            ~

We Refuse to Return to Mortal Dust

  While claiming Beauty Belongs to Us—

Could we ever Build a Temple of Air,

  And Claim no Land, or Person there?—

                            ~

But Let our Souls Live On as One,

  And through our Thoughts, when we are Done—

Becoming Less than Human Flesh!—

  Attached to and Torn 'tween Life & Death!?

                            ~

But Humans have, as their Central Art

  The Will to Become, both Ill and Smart—

Prone to Inventing their Noble Schemes

  Where Insignificance, shall Never be Seen.