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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,

Never Forget.