When I die, I want to go quietly – free from the miseries
of my body breaking down, organs sickened,
cutting off life as drift away.
When I die, I want to wake in a better world,
away from earth’s torments + the adverse emotions
gurus say we must bear.
When I die, I want to see Jesus’ face + wash his feet,
though he’d insist on washing mine because
that’s what he did for the apostles.
When I die, I have questions for God, like:
“Why is life so complex?” – like You gave us
a riddle with no answer.
When I die, I want to see my father + tell him I’m sorry,
do whatever souls do in the hereafter,
watch a ballgame in a heavenly living room.
When I die, who knows? None of this will happen,
or all of it – or I’ll be reborn as a butterfly,
flap golden wings in blissful ignorance.