The Remains

After the end,

when the landscape’s been reduced

to a smoking ball of glowing rubble,

there’ll be no witnesses,

save for the boxes

some simple

some elaborate,

housing the bones,

the remains.

Skeletons

and skulls frozen in

macabre eternal smiles,

some arms folded,

some at their sides

as custom permits.

Lying unceremoniously

at the bottom of these

caskets

will be the piles of stuff

that outlasted us,

the detritus once deemed

important, nay

life-changing:

multicolored

military badges,

deflated plastic sacs

where silicone and saline

once jiggled,

stray jewelry,

the rings and necklaces

of varying levels of

sentiment and

temporal value,

hard plastic

prosthetics

that prolonged abilities

and kept stigma

at bay.

Still, all of these things

over eons

will eventually dissolve to

dust,

easily blown away

by the spinning

of the earth.

So,

if you do not

cremate me

and return me

to the dust,

as I’ve suggested,

then please bury me

with something

permanent:

bury me with

some nuclear waste,

something that’ll last

a couple million years

or so.

(Written for #OpenLinkNight at http://dversepoets.com/ - the best poetry site in the world!)