The life of a poet lives on through all their poems, but the day I do depart, I want to be cremated.
I will entrust family and some fellow poets to let my ashes sink into some deep black ink. And I'd want them to write the stanzas I secretly saved just for the occasion.
That way they can say that I put all my heart and my body into poetry. Literally.
My soul, on the other hand, would live on happily as an eternal poet having fun rhyming while everyone's crying. (and I'd wish they'd stop.)
I wouldn't want my loved ones to be saddened. I'd want them to rejoice, knowing that my dream of becoming an eternal poet finally came true.