Perhaps I’ll ask them. It is their realm. Immortality. It would seem that man’s one ultimate pursuit is eternal life, the avoidance of death, whichever way you put it. Why then is it so that there are those among us who one day hope to die? To live a good life and to die, moving on to the next frontier? I have yet much life to live, but some day I think it would be nice to know that I can leave and I’ve been the best man I could. The next adventure always awaits. Enjoy the poem, friends.
The Immortal
This poison heart,
with its venom and its vitriol,
there’s something deep inside it,
rotting out the core.
I sip my glass of nightshade tea,
and eat with it my anthrax scones
and cyanide peach preserves
in the hopes I’ll numb the pain.
But no, i cannot die,
I cannot rest until the promise I’ve kept is kept and i might have peace again.
No, I cannot die.
I’d break a promise that needs fulfilled,
a promise to not die,
a promise to be at your side for always
and forever.
I lie in wait,
my poison heart,
hoping for a cure,
but here I fear,
it won’t be near
for many, many a year.
I feel its tendrils slowly encroaching,
slipping and sliding,
growing in my chest.
How black and withered does a muscle grow
under such neglect?
Poems by Sam 