With each breath the wish grows
‘this is the last and no more’
yet still the lungs fill with air
marking time in equal dread

the seconds stretch without resolve
in groups prolonged by questing thoughts
grounded in a base desire
to cease the practice in sad flight

absent the intake of life
rejected in a paradox
this greatest gift that many seek
becomes the bane of the oblique

still the breaths continue on
precursor of the coming storm
what the mantra long desired
wish satisfied in the lie.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20191026.