Gravereader

Gravereader, hark! I beg of thee
Stay awhile and let us be
Through death only these few moments rejoined.

If I knew thee then "hey!" to you,
How's life, how's love, and those to you
Endeared, close, or otherwise conjoined?

I know the fact that I died first
Means you'll still have some time the thirst
Of shedding this experience to the past.

But you also have some time to breathe,
To hug, to run, swim in the sea,
Enjoy them, for the moments cannot last.

If I knew you not, I say "Hi,
Random stranger still alive!"
What brings you to my little piece of ground?

If I was burned, then to my pot,
But then I honestly know not
Wherefrom you read this scripture that you found.

I would ask you "what is your name?"
But we both know that silly game
Works only if we both have minds to use

And mine is, well, involved no longer
With the details of this yonder
World that both our selves did once produce.

Anyway, enough of games
I'll tell you why I kept you today
Reading this half-decent piece of verse.

You are alive, and you are free
Yes, totally, please do trust me
Believe me, even if my words are terse.

Your life and freedom are the keys
To days of heaven in this piece
Of time you've been allotted, not that much.

Yet sometimes feels like never ends
Still, happiness most depends
On the awareness of your role and such.

And your role is so natural,
So much, it turns infactual:
You're in this world to freaking just be you.

Axiomatic? Yes, it is!
Unenlightening? If you please.
It's not a fact to know or understand.

It's lore of old, and too of new,
No theorem can possibly prove
This concept both so meaningless and grand.

I ask you again, what brings you here?
I expect no words, for it is clear,
There's little I could do with a response.

But tell yourself what dost thee think
Of the events that brought the brink
of reading strangers' epitaphs by chaunce.

And on them ponder, because they
forever will precede your way
even after the world is done and through.

And yet consider, that your time
is not the done, the old, the grime
of what is past. Your time is but the new.

And in this tiny blink of now,
that stretches beyond all smile and scowl
we are confined to flow through our whole lives.

The past is gone, the future yet to be,
and though some think it agony,
we see, yet, that the whole world thrives.

Thus despair not, of what you've done,
of what you've said, what you've begun
and left unbred, that's etched in Time for good.

Carry on, embrace your ups and downs
Waltz through your joy, mistakes, and frowns
Your music needs dischords to shift its mood.

Your life and context is your floor
the world your audience and score,
but no one feels your moves as much as you.

One two three, whoops, you missed a step!
You did? I kid. None can direct
your heartbeat's tunes, nor tell what is your due.

Remember, no one too long lasts.
Dance through your now, and let the past
be not burden and chain, but teaching guide.

Let's dance, skip, prance, fall, take a chance,
learn moves, make new, sway to old romance,
listen, follow yourself, enjoy your ride.

I am now alive, and when I ask
what I want following my past,
I find in me that I would like to give

What I still have to who'll take,
then sing, dance, paint, write, treasures make,
to run, to love, to feel, to breathe, to live.

I want the whole world to explore,
meet other me's, bask in the dawn,
alone or shared, in moonlight, sun, or rain.

I want to taste the naked heart
of Nature, Time, take Life apart,
understand consciousness past joy and pain.

Reader, please know, I hope you know
that these rhymes are not just for show
exquisiteness in life can be achieved.

Momentum is a lovely thing
makes rivers flow, turns cold to spring
although its side effects I've sometimes grieved

For "Live" is not a passive verb
those who live thus might find interred
their inner spark under a dusty crust

then lose it, miss it, then forget
their goal is not really to get
through Life alive only because they must.

Too often I see others lead
so many more, who meekly heed,
along broad path that ancient steps begun.

But this broad path, now dusty and worn
was once wild green, just like now forms
that unknown rest no one has stepped upon.

You know where that broad path will end
somewhere behind more lines of them
who did the same as you, but just before.

So wander off, renew your view,
those ancients were wanderers too,
who left the path them given in their lore.

You'll feel the grass beneath your feet
sweeter than shoes on smooth concrete,
shade, fruits, and streams, still in state pristine.

Though heed the meaning of "unknown",
You'll find things never before shown,
And not all are sweet, gentle, soft, or clean.

But personally, I much prefer
to wander off and dangers dare
than follow others in eternal line.

For one Life only here I see:
that thought, writ, sung, and played by me,
and none can give me what is truly mine.

If this text comes to influence you,
remember others are you too,
but born and chanced by different winds of Fate.

So think of them as that, as you's
learn, teach, or help to best produce
a world that you'd feel glad to celebrate.

Help not for gain or lofty name,
Do so because in this life game,
we're all lost in ways others are more found.

If not enough, then synergy
might poke you just enough to see:
ant rafts, bird v's, plants growing on trees-not-ground.

As I write of what others are,
it seems just right to say, on par,
which facts surround the writer, namely, me.

Hispanic male, just twenty nine,
lounging on couch on a curved spine
swyping words on my Galaxy S3.

Grad student, Pittsburgh, CMU,
computers' background, some math too,
with parents loving, teaching, soft, and kind.

Not rich, not poor, but just well off,
to eat, sleep, dress I have enough,
with curious, open, often rhythmic mind.

Thirsty for travel, skills, and feat,
parkour fan til a Chevy hit
my bike's back hard enough that I forgot.

And that three limbs of mine were smashed,
but people helped me after the crash,
and now I walk, and run, though not a lot.

Took Yoga up just recently,
Can ride a cycle decently,
And both of those I do without a limp.

Love swimming, piano, violin,
much prefer plants to eating skin
or meat, a tad of allergy to shrimp.

I think it's not that orthodox
to include one's life in poem's midst
But I was hardly one to wear a tux.

This poem here has actually
grown to an unforeseen degree
And at large font, perhaps too long for stone.

Maybe by time I die they'll have
some holo-tombstone epitaphs.
Less lasting, but with pretty, floating cones.

Well, if you read this (and you do),
it follows that you are a due
member of an educated race.

As such, I hope you can infer
That I attempt with choice and care
To share what I've found worthy in my pace.

If you find truth in what I say
Please take from it what you most may
And find its inspiration in the world.

If you, instead, find these sayings false,
then by all means, proceed your waltz.
I know my truths all others will not hold.

Gravereader, thank much do I thee!
Thy bright, engaging company
Brings me much hope and happiness combined.

Even past death we share a bond
Of consciousness and curious mind
May your will and the world's be well aligned!