Debate

Debate

I consider
What
Should 
Be
Done
When 
Death
Has
Won,
Taken 
Me
Into
His
Arms,
And 
Wiped
Away
My
Earthly
Charms.
A 
Pavanne
Of
Chemicals
And
Stains, 
To
Preserve
My 
Piteous
Remains?
Or
Should 
My
Second
End
Be
In
The
Flames,
With
No
Funereal
Games,
Toasted
Into
Sparks
And
Smoke, 
To
Become
A
Cosmic
Joke?
Or
Slowly
Decay
In
Clothes
That
Were
Snappy
In 
My
Day?
Or
Choose
The
Fire,
And 
Simply
Blow
Away?
Ah
Me,
I may
Arrange
A
Burial
At
Sea.
Then
Fish
Would
Nibble
What 
Was 
Left,
And
Such
A
Thought
Leaves 
Me
Bereft.
All
That
Said,
Between
Me
And
You,
When
I’m
Dead,
I won’t
Care
What 
They
Do.