Reckoning Mortality
Noah Mitchell
Mortality creeps into my consciousness,
though immortal, of myself, I once believed.
Haughty thoughts of hubris they were,
but now the real has of them relieved.
I stare into a void of nothingness, for naught
beyond life can I see. My own two eyes,
as though plucked from their sockets, have
failed this time on me. Or maybe I do see
into an abyss so deep that no light can return.
My days on earth are numbered,
please don’t leave me in an urn.
If I should die before I wake, know
I lived as well as I could, for I was
dealt a joker’s hand. No heaven
for this broken body, no soul
to rot in hell. Marry me with
the mud, my dearest soil, do
mix me in the mess. For if my death
nourishes I will have died for happiness.
Let worms feast on my barren bones,
let plants root in my decay,
let mushrooms bloom from my eaten bones,
let land cover my carbon, I say.
Compost all my remnants, for that is
all I shall be worth. Cry not for
my soul, as it was lost in the world,
wandering without mirth. If I die
before I wake know that I am
where I wish to be. If I die before you
do not mourn, leave that for tragedy.
Mortality, mortality I embrace
your fruitful tree. Mortality, mortality
come to consciousness for me.
though immortal, of myself, I once believed.
Haughty thoughts of hubris they were,
but now the real has of them relieved.
I stare into a void of nothingness, for naught
beyond life can I see. My own two eyes,
as though plucked from their sockets, have
failed this time on me. Or maybe I do see
into an abyss so deep that no light can return.
My days on earth are numbered,
please don’t leave me in an urn.
If I should die before I wake, know
I lived as well as I could, for I was
dealt a joker’s hand. No heaven
for this broken body, no soul
to rot in hell. Marry me with
the mud, my dearest soil, do
mix me in the mess. For if my death
nourishes I will have died for happiness.
Let worms feast on my barren bones,
let plants root in my decay,
let mushrooms bloom from my eaten bones,
let land cover my carbon, I say.
Compost all my remnants, for that is
all I shall be worth. Cry not for
my soul, as it was lost in the world,
wandering without mirth. If I die
before I wake know that I am
where I wish to be. If I die before you
do not mourn, leave that for tragedy.
Mortality, mortality I embrace
your fruitful tree. Mortality, mortality
come to consciousness for me.
Noah Mitchell is an aspiring college-level English instructor from Clearlake, CA. He is a wanderer in this world, never quite feeling settled anywhere yet at home everywhere. He hopes to write something someday that becomes moderately well-known. Noah has love for everybody and hopes to make the world a better place for all.
