If the meaning is so obscure that we are lost before we even begin to consider it, what's the point?
amicus, if that's actually a valid critique, I'm screwed
Here is my own death poem, written over 5 years ago – obscure but evocative – and, I fear, less optimistic than the others offered here:
Sommeil Macabre
He was an earthling once: and now
The eye turns backward in the head.
The sleeper is well on his way
Out of his skin, beyond the reach
Of ecstasy or rage or dread.
The sightless eye slid open, and
The wordless mind illiterate read
Black ink upon black pages; found
All tongues are foreign now; and turned
To hungry trembling sleep instead.
The muscle sags upon the bone:
The hand too slack to lift the bread
To flaccid lips that hunger still
For sweeter food than this, for here
Even the sugar is made of lead.
The awkward flesh in mute debauch
Lies orderly with legs unspread.
Unpanting lungs make voiceless shouts
An orgy of silence; still tongues lap
Dry juices, unseen pink and red.
The Brownian motion of the soul
Turns the eye backward in the head
Suavely & gently; yet it is
The cosmic fibrillation that
Will tear the hard-lit stars to shreds.
g ently f eral