Own

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Dust dances with the rock, dirt, and mulch of the earth. Earth shifts, moves evolves. Where will I end it up? My head head may sink beneathe the layers into a sea of lava. My thighs may be pushed to the surface and grow into grass. Grass that is crushed by the splendors of innocent children, or by the footsteps of murderous adults. My chest that you'st to breathe, beat and flow is traveling down a stream into the ocean. My bodily nutrients may aid the growth of a great oak or sit lifelessy under the city streets. Where will I go? I do not know. My body is not my own in death.