DetailsThe poem, its numbers, and the conversation.

When

Member since 2003 · Posted 3 Oct 2003 · 3 comments

When they ask you what to say of me, some day not unthinkably distant... When they give me into your hands, reduced to a pile of ash fit only to feed some less long-lived blooms... When they ask you how I would want to be remembered... Tell them only this: I burned.

Rate it

0 is the worst, 10 the best. Pick a number, add a comment if you like, then send it. Keys: 0–9 pick, Enter sends.

mean 6.75 weighted 5.21 rank 4454 views 175 View voting details →

4 votes so far. Yours would make 5.4 votes so far

A favorite of Dan garcia-Black.

3 comments

[7] Jeremi B. Handrinos 4-Oct-03/6:47 AM Reply

It's missing something? Since we know you are ashes early on be fore you tell us you've burned, why say what we know? It's Rhedundant. Try this instead.

When (Free verse) by Cairsten

When they ask you
what to say of me?
Some day, not unthinkably far off...
Tell them the truth.

When they give me into your hands.
Reduced to a pile of fine ash
fit only to feed some lesser
long-lived blooms...

When they ask you
how I would've wanted
to be remembered?
Tell them only this:
I've turned in.

[n/a] Cairsten › Jeremi B. Handrinos 4-Oct-03/7:49 AM Reply

*grins.* You missed the point, I think. The last "to burn" isn't only referring to the method of disposal, but to the way the subject's lived. To burn brightly, to make a great light, to bring warmth and comfort, to spend one's life fully utilising one's talents -- all those things. That is the memory. And the pun was almost accidental.

[10] Dan garcia-Black 4-Jul-04/10:27 AM Reply

I would have given up to two teeth I have left to have written such a poem. Anyone want to trade two teeth for a blender?