Cold Immortality

The candle, blown out, still retains a spark;
Nor is it burnt up, though the room is dark.
No one cares. Its job is done.

But sparks could still rekindle into flame
Or stubs, restrung, redipped, refill its frame.
But not both things together.

Yet if the candle could keep sparks in wick,
We’d keep it live, remake it long and thick...
Continuous, unsevered.

Like Lincoln’s axe, whose haft’s been replaced thrice,
And the steel axe head changed out once or twice...
Same axe? Or stupid-clever?

Then keep some spark alive when I have ‘died’;
Freeze, then unfreeze, rebuild. No homicide
Of brain cells lost forever.

Come on, cryonics, sign me up, for one.
That’s immortality’s first step begun.
I would outlive the sun.