The Fact of the Matter

You needn't worry that my ghost
Will groan through walls and outside
Windows. When I die, I will be gone.
Should you see me at some level,
With a microscope perhaps, you'd
Learn that I am molecules, bits
Of matter, mostly space, or, from
A satellite, I'd be, well, nothing,
Just a part of earth. In other words,
The question isn't whether I'll
Persist past death, it's whether
There's a point to claiming
That I lived at all.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 51 times
Written on 2016-11-28 at 23:14

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