Apology to a neglected vehicle

I am counting the days to death.
My stomach engorged on irrelevancies
digests the bought, chocolate, and then
the bread & butter of life: Thought.

And thought connects me all;
My protons and neutrons; ions and cells;
DNA containers recycling. I consider:
Is aging simply my body getting bored?

Perhaps if each cell had a break from the norm;
A holiday, intent focused on individuality;
It would give us a better reason for living.
When mind, head-untrapped visits the being.

So it is now that I apologise, my body;
My neglected sanctum. You were in fact
not the structure. More the congregation.
Perhaps the sermon should be on Unity?

I stand briefly in the pulpit. What can I tell you?
Each cell, strand, nucleus and beyond: Be Free.