jake st. john | when i die, i die

When I die, I die

When I die, I die
my hands will no longer
write poems
my voice will no longer
recite words
my bones and ash
returned to earth
somewhere
the sky will still be blue
the sun will still rise
a poet will write a poem
about a flower
a child will cry in the night
the moon will go out dancing
the stars will watch lovers
stealing kisses
a pigeon will shit in the city
a man will die in the street
a bank will steal a home
a dog will chase a cat
a politician will lie
I hear trains blowing their horns
like trumpets into the night
when I die, I die
the sky will still be blue