Dead.

Popping off: a pondering.

Oh, what will become of me when I am gone?
What unearthly mystery awaits?
Will my soul be cast straight into Hell thereupon,
Or admitted through pearly white gates?

Will my many transgressions be counted like beans?
Will my goodness or evil be reckoned?
Will it matter at all what I tried in my teens,
Even though ‘twas for only a second?

Will my spirit return as an infinite ghost
To occupy more living things?
Will my karma determine the form of my host?
Or if not, may I choose to have wings?

Will I see all those people who’ve gone on before?
Are they waiting somewhere far above?
Will I have to be nice to the ones I abhor?
Could I see only those whom I love?

Will I sit on hereafter’s proverbial fence
Suspended with faltering breath,
Until summoned by some psychic medium thence
Who’s asked “Where’d she go after death?”

Will I shed the desire for great wealth and renown?
Will I know the unknown of Nirvana?
While my corporal remains become shrivelled and brown,
Like some old five-foot-seven sultana?

When it comes to the end, is there nothing at all?
And will all that once was then be not?
Will those memories I tried to retain and recall
Having meant something once, then mean squat?

Will my consciousness cease at the moment of snuff?
Will my mind be flicked off like a light?
When my body’s decided it’s had quite enough
Will my brain also call it a night?

Was there ever a point then, in thinking each thought?
And in planning the deeds I might do?
Is the sum of my effort a terminal nought?
Will I un-know the things I once knew?

There are so many questions I want to explore
Before I am packed in a hearse.
In the meantime, perhaps I should get out some more
And abandon this trivial verse.