Should I Lie Still

Those who think I lie dead, know nothing
Of the death of self, I shall never know.
Laying here long, but I will rise
With a newborn poem in my mouth, pushed through my lungs.
My old poems did not die. They did not live as I had done.

Make it through the flames of my funeral,
That this new poem will follow me,
When I die, I shall take it with me,
and tell it to God in shame and sorrow.

For all of the loves lost and lives are forgotten,
for I shall not die, I shall not be forgotten.
For Ill or Good, by wax and wane,
the spirit of my love lives beyond me.
If you think I lie dead, that I lie still,
You know nothing at all.