We are getting older.
And the adventures we didn't partake
Are barren to the memory yet vividly clear.
Dare I say, unbearably so.
I ask not of god, but instead to the phantom me that I will never see...
To be swift with his blade and blessing.
May he cleave me in two,
Spilling my blood upon the dessert sands
And pick from it
The fragments of mine soul.