When I die, I ask you this:
Make my body a nurse log.
Let marigolds bloom at my fingers,
And make my bones a catalogue.
Let lilies spring from my knees
And from my torso a cypress
Let her leaves quake in the breeze
When I exhale my final breath
Let my mind blacken and fade
Into the oblivion of eternal night
And with my perpetual darkness,
The world shall have new light
No greater gift could you ever give
Than to let me fertilize the earth
My body made a nurse log
And my conscience returned to birth.
Author's note: I wrote this poem for my English journal prompt, "poetry." My poetry often revolves around cycles: life and death (like this one), seasons, and day and night. I had the idea of bodies returning to earth when I was doing yoga one day and I just stuck with me! I finally thought of nurse logs and how they are the dictionary definition of this idea and I wrote this poem. I wish I could've gotten a little more plant symbolism in there. Maybe I'll add a stanza one day!
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Trillium Beneath the Pines: An Original Poetry Compilation
PoetryA compilation of my poems, many of which explore the cyclical nature of the world: life and death, day and night, and the seasons.
