You Would If You Could

Damn, but what if it worked?
Your remains were interred
In an ossuary

Painted to look like you,
A little, but sporting
An oversized nose, sign

Symbolizing the breath
Of life, Chalcolithic
Style, and, so honored, you,

Through those enshrined remains
Stashed in a secret cave,
Became an ancestor,

A new, divine being.
After that, you went on,
Spirit shaped of symbols,

Influencing living
Descendants or maybe
All the stuff happening

In the vicinity,
Within some radius
Your magic extended.

What if it’s still working
Six thousand years later,
Your spirit still troubling

The air of the troubled
Land where you were buried,
Although no one knows why,

Exactly, you’d bother—
No one tends to your shrine;
No descendants are left,

And the warring locals
Have bigger gods to fry?
Well, they don’t understand.

Anyone with magic,
Gifted an afterlife,
Will bother if they can.