I see the monument of old
That rusts and blanches in the cold
Then crumbles down into the dust
As all things temporal so must.

I watch the novel’s pages burn
Within a pyre without concern;
Its embers float into the sky
But short of heaven they will die.

I hear the music of the age
Dissolve in echoes from the stage
And gasp for life with every breath
But can’t escape a muted death.

I listen to the tales spun
Of heroes and the deeds they’ve done,
Till failing minds corrupt their facts
And lost are truths of all their acts.

I feel the pleasures all pursue
Creating bliss and joy anew
Like hunger satisfied in full,
But soon again that gnawing pull.

I sense the power of youthful strength
Begetting works extolled at length
Till injury, disease, or time
Despoils what was had in prime.

So what is immortality
But what’s beyond this world we see?


(Photo from Pixabay)