On the Occasion of My Death


On the occasion of my death
how will I be remembered?
Will it be sobs and soaked handkerchiefs
or will it be laughter and heads
shaking in collective acknowledgment
to the silly and completely ridiculous
stories that will be told?
On the occasion of my death
how will I meet the one that will
usher me through the crossroads
of this life and the next?
Will it be with a bang, with a
silent whimper, or with my forehead
to the clouds a grin upon my fading
mouth and my hand reaching out first
to take her hand before she asks
for mine?
Will it be painful, will it hurt, will
I scream for it to be over or will
I, pushing through frozen bits of frozen
moments, understand the reason for the pain
and the explanation behind the hurt
and instead turn and bask in it, the final
sensation this skin and these bones will
ever feel this beautiful lap through
a breathtaking life.
On the occasion of my death
what will be the weather on the instant
and dizzying transition into
the occasion of my rebirth?
Will I enter through a storm
or through the gentle breeze of a sunny
day? Will the rain drops be my baptism
and will my first scream be only the echo
of my last scream in the flesh I used
to wear, and wear proudly?
On the occasion of my death
will the explosion be felt across
the planet or will it be the
single falling star spied by a single
lonely soul sitting on the roof of
some creaking house in the cool early
Autumn night? Will they feel me flicker
and fade and burst back into glowing
life or will I just fall into line
as the next star in a line of many
that make up some constellation?
Will sailors guide themselves by me,
will two young souls freshly in love
wish upon me when I come out while
the blue still hangs in the sky
and will I feel those wishes?
On the occasion of my death
what will become of all
that was?  What will become
of all I was to be
on the occasion of my death?

-Tyler Knott Gregson-

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