Life Is a Lease

We’ve stolen the flag-standard;

We have piled and stomped out the clocks

Like grapes

Which wore heavy upon us—

And here is our certain future,

Lay at rest upon the boat

Like a Viking funeral.

Let them call us what we are:


What more can we say,

Except that we are dreamers.

No further—

The heart wrapped in cloth,

Muffled by old hands;

The soul winging in its cage,

By the open window.

The eyes are starved of maps;

And the feet are jaded by the trail.

The body is young, but the youth

Of now will cede unto the next—

And then there will be age,

Less limber, though with

The same fire, unable to wield.

Lover of yourself—love your

Fate, and do not concede ownership

To something outside yourself;

There is no quicker way to die twice.

And if you wish to dream, the pillow

is only a net; in the morning, you must rise

And shake, and take up the deeds with you.

No more—no more—

The heart aches like a city

Besieged; the mind wanders afar

Into the wilderness—do not remain

Here, steadfast in the mold.

If you wish to burn, then burn

As a comet ripping open the sky—

The world will not wait for you;

Fate is no much more then you make it.







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