by Nick Gisburne
The centuries of sleep are spent at last
Synthetic fluids wake my frozen form
Computers gather pieces of the past
While tiny, tireless robots surge and swarm
A promise: every pathogen is gone
The waiting is rewarded with a cure
Astonished that my life will carry on
A moment of delight is premature
The payment for my care has been declined
The money, and the bank, did not survive
No trace of any wealth I left behind
But here, a bill for keeping me alive
My case is closed; collection swiftly starts
Immediate dissection - cash for parts
