I wish it was possible here where I live.
To have my own quaint little casket.
I'd would love to have carvings of little flowers and leaves all around.
And one budding flower on the half open lid where my head would finally rest.
The other half should have a storage area where my Message bible, my Swarovski cross pendant, journals and skull anklets can fit in to go with me.
All my nail polishes would not be able to fit in there as well, so maybe only the gold colored ones.
Or only my Liquid Sands.
Also, unlike the white caskets I keep seeing people tend to choose,
I'd love a dark cherry wood one with silvery gray interior linings.
Three silver handles on each side, I'll be able to have 6 pallbearers.
I know it sounds kind of morbid, but one can only dream about these things.
After all, who would spend such money on a casket that will only be burnt into ashes anyway?
This poem reminds me of a friend of mine who goes to her burial plot often. She lays down right where she will one day be buried. I never got it. But your poem has helped. I guess, each one of us, has to face our own mortality in our own ways.
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