Miserable Attempt at Poetry

In a satin lined box of pine,
my doppleganger lies supine;
the sacrifice is affirmed,
and complete,
no more, no more,
no more suffering,
no more tears,
no more mornings,
no more sleepless nights;
only slumber now.

In a satin lined box of pine,
my doppleganger lies supine;
the deed is done,
and now I depart,
once again, once again,
for Mother's darkened bosom,
Dirt, dirt, sand, and dirt;
hello again,
my maggot friends,
how do you do?

In a satin lined box of pine,
my doppleganger lies supine;
but where am I?
In air, in ground,
in water, in fire,
in your mind, in your heart;
here, yet absent,
gone, but never forgotten;
this miserable cadaver-beast,
laying supine in a pine box,
gets more action than I did in a lifetime.