Now is the strong man’s grip to what is
But blind, we appease ourselves
On contentment that does not hold.
Happy is the deluded
Thoughts lift him from the mud
And he sees those we cannot.
Cracks on the surface
Reality sneaks upon us from behind
As sure as the hiss of the fork-tongued.
Denial is not just a river in Egypt
Nor a fountain of youth by which
We implore the Fates, “Leave the thread be!”
There is no escape
For the will cannot withstand the call
Let go your grip and to freedom –
The mirage must fade
The curtain must draw
The show must end.
For such is the way to the stars
And such is the path to immortality
To die…is to live!