By David John McCallum
Beneath the surface of the living
Where the darkness is King.
There I will rest
For ages upon ages
Until time has no meaning,
And all thoughts of my existence
Have passed outside of memory.
Then by chance,
After the snow of many winters has melted
And the frost bids a final farewell to the earth
Will some unsuspecting Human Being
Excavate me from my tomb.
Inviting a light
That pierces the obsidian black.
And releases my body from its dormant state.
Whispering all the joys of living
Into my ears.