Ribs are a cage, though gilded they may be
And thus, ill hearts do clamour at their bars.
Through burdened flesh the soul longs to be free
And, weightless, float amidst the flick’ring stars.
Too brief, this life, yet lengthy are its hours
When memories invade the fragile mind.
When hopes do shrink like quickly-wilted flowers,
Futility with fear is soon enshrined.
Why hasten what’s to come with thoughts of death?
Why strive for bones to prove the body’s will?
For finite is the lungs’ reserve of breath
And false the call of self-destruction’s thrill.
Dear heart, keep strong and swaddled in content
For soon this life is all-too-quickly spent.
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