The Cracker-Barrel Philosopher Poem by Bryan Taplits

There is a spastic certainty
That I'd like to address,
I hate it's forward arrogance
That seems "not more-
but less."


It's that certitude of moldering
in a grave with no redress.
And I hate those words,
"Rest in Peace"
For they sound -
not like a "rest"
But a never-to-be completed
eternal quest.

As for me,
I'm not afraid of dying
For it's just one more
exclusive club-
Though, at times
it's not all fun-
since it seems to me
"Death" always picks
the one who isn't done.