Here is the monument –
You will remember
My monument;
The stark and lifeless
Temerity of my voice,
Which I had hoped
Stone would harbour.

My monument standing
Over the done diseases
That my body bent to; 
Over the forgotten scars
Of my body’s life;
Here is my calcium,
Stone, to drink,
Here are the buboes now
In deep clasts of quartz.

Over time my nameless edifice
Will acquire a new identity
Like a ruined temple or church;

People will still come around
Some to study, some to play –
It, being there, will change
The woods, change the land,
Maybe sprout a garden round it.

Family, friends and lovers
Will no longer add charm
To the memory of the man,
Only the monument will exist.


After the grandchildren, who
Dares burden themselves
With the heavy load of Memory?


Best that strangers lead this task –
Your historians and archeologists


Yes, the monument will no longer be mine
But is any monument ever truly ours?