to live
without regret
is but a motto for the
modern man sick with intellect.

a modern prick
who loves this place
and a monetary
momentary
trophy case.
who cares for popular
circular knowledge
before
the wisdom of man’s
past eureka hours,
jewels, and flowers.

oh!
to live without regard
for regret

to live
as if death were possible
at any sharp fork
within the time span
of said
regret.

now this is intellect
in my head

in my head
my kindred friend.

knowing,
feeling,
believing,
that death is supportive
of us

of us
and our souls
even more so than
life.

life,
that which would leave us
the moment we care
about something more
than it.
like a jealous lover
that dares to roar
“have faith in this!”

damn you life!
i am you,
i remain you,
but
BUT i
did not
choose       You!

death
at least would be so
compassionate as to
offer me
a choice!

if not in this recoil
then when?
when shall we find the privacy!
the solitude!
and the…

self-reflection stoops

the

the reason for which to return to the
pull of such monstrous love
the suction of such love

the love death offers
cannot be understood
from reasonable
high horses
of the blood pumping
stable spirit.

death pulls and
consumes no more
no less
than blindly
breathing life’s arrogant
rules.

to live, as if death
were beaming beauty
upon all multiples of moments.

as you stand by your belief
that life is virtuous.

i must seek
comfort in laughing at
our expanding waking
duties, rites, and lusts.

contrasting
our dogma that requires
homage be payed
to the gift
of consciousness
and
the miracle of us.

allow me
a free existence
conjured by actions
and choices
of my will
alone.

i did not choose you life.
and a choice to me
is defined as a trusting love.

a pure romance
will on my heart grow

as
death trusts
me
more than life
could ever know.