A Cliched Theme In Rhyme
They told you and promised your breath will expire
Your soul will go missing like the crackling fire.
They told you -- they advised -- to accept it and live
Use up the time that your creator did give.
And you know all this time that your song will be cut
That the orchestra plays on but the players do not
You know all of this will turn to dust and to ash
And your face'll be preserved by a camera and a flash.
You get taller and dumber, living for Tomorrow
Waiting for your stomach to stop feeling so hollow.
You forget for a while that there's a grave in the future,
Waiting for you to be buried in as closure.
People die all around you and you think, "Oh.
That won't happen to me for a long time, no.
I am immortal, with an age in mind
It's a ripe old age that you can't just unwind."
And I understand since your hands aren't pale
That you haven't even worn the wedding dress and veil.
That it's silly to think of your funeral and legacy
When all you can think about are the formal dresses and dead chivalry.
Living forever is not for eternity.
It's the thought that you'll live up to ninety.
It's the rush in your blood when you're young and unafraid
It's the thrum of your legs when you stomp like a parade
It's the drumming in your chest when the best band starts
It's the springing in your veins that touches both your hearts
It's the lightheaded feeling between summer songs and love affairs
It's the bulletproof comebacks that get you all the ogling stares
And sometime around happiness and that family reunion
You forget about what they gave you as Life's one instruction:
That the future isn't forever, and today might be all you get
Even though you never had any of your own kids yet.
So even though it's unlikely -- and I hope to God that that is true
Know that you will die too.
You'll have a final bow.
So take a moment and inhale the beauty that is now.
Because we all think we're young -- just admit it: it's true.
No amount of birthdays will take that away from you
We are young, the world's out there to kiss our lips
Just on the brink of touching our fingertips.
Live, give, love, and conquer.
You're here just once for an unknown number.
Don't be afraid to die, and don't stress about what's after.
Leave with a suitcase and send me a postcard once you meet our Maker.
Copyright © Eunice-Grace Domingo | Year Posted 2016
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