Posthumous Living

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For a life that’s posthumously lived,
I don’t brood and ponder
Of what I must have
What I could’ve become
What I really am or whatnot.
For life has shipped off
To somewhere far, far away
I crave & flail throughout my day.

Perhaps that’s the thing about death.
It embraces you with perspectives,
A frame of reference you could’ve missed
You could’ve misconstrued.
Rekindling life with death deprives you
Of the misfits of the common man,
The opinions of the ton,
The lifetime shenanigans of ‘their’ plan
To your life and needs.

Within the realm of the living,
Death braces you with a concept beyond,
A life that beholds.