Crack the egg

even the sun rarely goes unnoticed
as it passes into the dark of night
yet I wouldn't mind to be unseen
when it's my turn for last of light

so many care to live the lives
owing to the name forget-me-not
yet I would prefer no one knows
where my body's laid down to rot

the standing stones are futile attempts
at trying to seize what never stays
for even they weather and fade
in passing seasons and flickering days

what's owed the sower of life is
whatever the reaper tries to reap
of course the journey's end is
more so for what the mourners weep

for the shell may crack and out
pours the runny mess of any soul
but in its time a soul may know
it was never parted from the whole

the lives played out in checkered
towns, or fields, or deepest of caves
are simply ripples in a pool
that grow into eternal tidal waves

and one a soul may take alone
and one two souls may conquer with
and two or more may unite as one
having a life resembling more a myth

yet that sort of memorabilia
one of shiny brass decorating the bold
I never wish to ornament with
when the story of my life is told

better for me will be a grave
of a giant tempest whirling wind
that will blow away all my words
and my soul to eternity will send