If my body is a temple,
Made of colorful flowers and silent wishes
Destined to be heard by myself only;
Filled with statues of a golden goddess
Forgotten by all the people who loved her
Who will pay tribute to me ?
Who will praise me when the universe isn’t paper and words anymore ?
Do I have to water the plants growing inside my head ?
Do I have take the good away from the bad?
If such things exist.
And if I am a simple sinner fishing by the sea
Looking at silver creatures suffocating,
Do I deserve the wisdom awarded by my status ?
Do I deserve to be of religious importance ?
Do I even deserve to be writing?
And if my body is to be preserved for future generations to praise
In the dark humid caves of their mind,
Shall I protect my foundations ?
All that is skin and bone,
The eccentric chapel that is my inner-self.
Or can I destroy as I please ?
Love as I decide ?
Hate as I feel ?
And shall I give back to nature what was originally given to me?
Does my concern for what will become of me,
If anything remains,
Means that I am not worthy ?
And if so, shall you really be reading this ?
If we strip temples and shrines from their purest essence,
Who will visit me ?
Who will keep me warm at night when I’m aging ?
And everybody has gone home.
I shall be free for the world to dispose of,
Or as sacred as roman ruins,
What does it change ?
Who will come to sweep the dust away from my obsolete floors,
Where all your feet have walked and trembled ?
I am as human as you,