Sometimes things cut weirdly, and I don't really know what the poem is trying to say

Made me think about the context of passing, so much of that going on these days, world-wide.

What was present for you in your thinking when you wrote it?

This is a dispargement of growing old and dying. These last three months have been all about funerals for relatives, friends and pets. He says that he worries about being next. Those that have gone before him aren't as old as he is, so why are they dead and not he? He wonders about being dead, is there really an after-life, where if you have been a good person, you enjoy an all wonderful afterlife? No, we cannot avoid death; either physical or the eventual forgotten, barely remembered fame of the immortals of one kind or another. Who in a thousand years will remember Shakespeare or Remy etc... In two thousand years anyone of us will be nothing more than a curiousity, no matter how famous we were. Such is life and the aftemath. ~ Geez.
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