the stories fill with warnings,
from the dawn of time onto the recent years:
for those who seek an end to mortal death,
the only laurels at their grave are made of tears.
it is only by a gods' mere fancy
that such stories ever end in less than strife
for the rest who are not quite so lucky
their short lives make a mockery of life.
Those who sought the greatest gift was ever given,
fall prey to pain and misery too soon:
they wish to see the dawning of the horsemen,
but rarely live to see another June.
A thousands sins seem at once to come a calling,
the not-so-hidden implication plain:
the man who wishes to evade the darkest angel
already has upon his soul a stain.
The bishops and the saviors never want it,
nor do good children who say their prayers at night:
the only ones who seek to cheat the system
are portrayed as far more dark than light.
Through the annals of our books we get the story:
to wish away a deadly end is wrong
we scorn the cheaters of our human nature
and honor all the martyrs with our song.
This is only because we live in envy,
in desperate hoping and in hidden fear
of the inevitability of ending:
that some New Year's we will enter our last year.
We raise up those who dare to have the courage,
to conquer fear and smile in Death's face,
for secretly we wish the impossible
and know that we could never take their place.
A chosen few express this hidden longing
and get shoved back with epithets of old,
whipping out the stories of the devil,
of long lives lived friendless, harsh and cold.
Yet I have read a number of these stories:
and still persist in darkening my heart
for I do not see myself within those pages:
with the devil I will have no part.
I wish for impossibility
for a circle that never ends,
less so as I grow older
for now my thoughts depend
Far more on what the world thinks
than what I think of me,
concerning words like fantasy
and immortality.
To mock what we all dream of
is to deny the truth:
we all seek immortality
and everlasting youth.
To give ourselves lofty feelings,
that we consider pure and fine
is to no use if they are false
yet we preach them all the time.
We are not pure and simple:
we want what we cannot get
we want what we should not want
but we make ourselves forget
Perhaps some day I will meet my end,
but I will not say for sure:
for this longing's part of the human state
and for that there is no cure.