POETRY

A World For My Ashes

by Christopher Collingwood

When my ashes grow tired


of the day’s since past;
 

and my name bequeathed to
 

the lasting stone -
 

take my remains to a distant world,
 

one so strange and unfamiliar;
 

that never in my dreams
 

would I have found such a place.
 

Then bury my ashes
 

deep within the ground,
 

or what may exist in such a curios land;
 

a mucus trap, a helium stream,
 

the inner ear of a drifting giant.

Give my ashes to the moment,
 

but say no prayer,
 

no words of remembrance;
 

nothing to disturb the will of change.
 

Then hopefully – with patience,
 

and the instinct of nature;
 

a new beginning will take a breath,
 

an essence will stir,
 

and something will grow.

Perhaps the first few hairs
 

of a giant sand fish, or a tentacle
 

of a billow squid, as it floats into the
 

upper atmosphere; or maybe even an
 

eight-foot tall Ge’ve’gee traveller,
 

with burnt orange skin and sapphire eyes;
 

who walks on six legs,
 

catching particles of perception
 

in the rhythm of his hands.

 

Who seeks only the will of mood,
 

and the desire to temper curiosity –
 

with no need for purpose, or the
 

scholar of time.

Finding no greater pleasure,
 

then lying in a swarm of hairy
 

singing worms, as they resonate;
 

or searching through the remains of a
 

giant mind cluster, to watch light refract
 

off dying neural crystals.
 

Not consumed with goals or
 

the limits of reason; but accepting the
 

senses and the chance of discovery;
 

knowing what exists within life,
 

offers more concern then what abounds
 

beyond it.

Until his body had grown old and
 

fragile, when the days remembered
 

became enough to fill the
 

dreams of another lifetime.
 

He would make his final journey
 

to the Cave of Summons,
 

and watch the eternal funeral dance
 

of the immortal Zang-ga plant;
 

while his body slowly fell apart
 

in strands of fleshless wonder.

 

Floating across the world in harmony,
 

to return in gratitude
 

all he had experienced;
 

celebrating the truth of life,
 

and leaving nothing for a chosen
 

name; nothing for regrets;

 

not even ashes for the passing of time.

END

Christopher Collingwood was born and raised in Sydney Australia. He completed university in Sydney and graduated with a degree in business studies. Chris has devoted his spare time to writing, with works published in Outposts of Beyond, Illumen, Neo-Opsis, and various other publications.

Poetry by Christopher Collingwood:

"A World for My Ashes" June 2020

© 2020 by Utopia Science Fiction

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