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I write this with the knowledge that I may never see the sun again.
We are the only creatures on this planet who know they will die someday.

...and yet...

We still persist.
Day after day and night after night.
Working and slaving.
Fight after fight.

Sure.
Sometimes there are few of us who have the advantages in society and the benefits of wealth to make life worth living.
""I've been sky diving, rocky mountain climbing.
I hope you get the chance to live like you were dying."

How much do you have in your bank account?
I am cynical.
I know this.
You don't need to tell me that.

But sometimes there are people who, with all of this knowledge, press on and do it for the thrill of the battle.
Some live just because they want to survive.
Some live because they are scared of death.
Some live because they love the feeling of breathing.
Some live because the absence of it confuses them.

Why do I live?

Well.

That is an interesting question.
Note nothing of why or how, enquire
no deeper than you need
into what set these veins on fire,
note simply that they bleed.

Spain fought before and fights again,
better no question why;
note churches burned and popes in pain
but not the men who die.
The taste
of rain
—Why kneel?
I.

The happiest day—the happiest hour
    My seared and blighted heart hath known,
  The highest hope of pride and power,
    I feel hath flown.


II.

Of power! said I? Yes! such I ween
    But they have vanished long, alas!
  The visions of my youth have been—
    But let them pass.


III.

And pride, what have I now with thee?
    Another brow may ev’n inherit
  The venom thou hast poured on me—
    Be still my spirit!


IV.

The happiest day—the happiest hour
    Mine eyes shall see—have ever seen
  The brightest glance of pride and power
    I feel have been:


V.

But were that hope of pride and power
    Now offered with the pain
  Ev’n then I felt—that brightest hour
    I would not live again:

VI.

For on its wing was dark alloy
    And as it fluttered—fell
  An essence—powerful to destroy
    A soul that knew it well.
Somewhere there is a bee
Excellent at pollination
If a little aggressive.
Someday this bee will sting
And will find out the irony
That he is allergic to me.
Lowering me down slowly
into the pit of my eternity,
placing flowers in my recognition,
doesn't make you an innocent man.
It’s OK to tell a secret
to a dolphin or a seal,
but a pig cannot be trusted,
for a pig will always squeal!
You cannot trust a potato
It will only tell them lies
Some secrets they are mean that’s why an onion cries
I may tell one to max
Or fife or bob But I’ll never tell a teacher to tell you off
Is her job
But when comes to animals
Tell a dolphin or a seal but
Whatever you do
Do not tell a pig coze they will only sequel
But secrets are  mean they heart some ant true
So when you tell a secret imagine its about you
got It’s OK to tell a secret
to a dolphin or a seal,
but a pig cannot be trusted,
for a pig will always squeal! off internet made up the rest
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