The good die young,
or so I'm told.
I can't help but agree.
If I whispered this in your ear,
would you mistake my words as a cry for help?
I promise you, It's not.
Let me tell you what I fear.

I don't want to grow old
and watch my body decay,
wave as the child within sails away.
Turn into another taxpayer
trimming the hedges of my perfect little transparent existence,
desperately searching
for the moment when I
gave up.

One day I will become the soil,
this I know,
but must I first become a rusting foundation;
the remnants of a castle long after wonder love and freedom have been stripped away?

If the flame of my anatomy has an inevitable destiny
of being smothered by the weight of torment and time,
than I'd rather my soul depart
while shining at its brightest,
so I can find my way through the darkest of mysteries and discover a place in the
loudest kingdom of silence.