Funeral of the Living
I wish that I smoked cigarettes, Just puffing through the haze; Our hairs already numbered down With our remaining days. What is another year when we Are destined for the grave? Why cut off simple pleasures just To hoard the time we’d save? To burn the leaf at both ends bright, To live with our mistakes, To stand and fall while knowing true If we have what it takes. (Defining “it” has plagued us now A century or more; You wake up gray and aching and Wonder what it was for.) To float up like a wisp of smoke A sacrifice in spades; This funeral of the living turned Into joyous parades. These pallid frames, these corpses gray Can spring again to life If only we remember that Both ends can burn so bright.
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