Are you content to rest in your desire,
Feeling the decline of all you know,
The body aging to its own tune,
Its own sense of your mortality?

'I will judge what I have done
And make of it the whimsy of my soul,
For this is but my journey
So the more awake I feel.'

We have so much for you-
the body racked, the gut sliced
From your stomach like a chicken's
Sacrificed on the altar to the Gods.

'Burn them my friend for I have no fear
Mortality is your only power
Even the smoke as they burn
Will tell you it is only smoke.'

What have you done to leave your legacy?
What great glories have you written
Or acts to celebrate in years to come
Or are you just a weasel in the mind?

'No names please. I have called myself the worst
Laboring in this pit of impermanence.
Others may understand the ebb and flow
Of all I thought and meant.'

So, like slave thrown from the walls of Troy
To pacify an enemy which will cut your throat,
You beg for meekness and let your corpse
Rot silently in the sand beneath the wall.

'So be it. I am at one with the will of the Gods.
Let time decide the path my body will endure.
There is little you can do to change its course
For it is cast and peace and rest will come.'