What have we become?
What have we chosen to be?
Now all history is reduced to the syllables
or our name -
nothing can ever be the same:
now the Immortals are here.
At the time it seemed a reasonable course
to harness all the force
of life without the threat of death, but
soon we found that boredom and inertia
are not negative, but all the law we know,
and dead are will and words like survival
Arrival at immunity from all age, all fear
and all end...
why do I pretend?
Our essence is distilled
and all familiar taste is now drained
and though purity is maintained
it leaves us sterile, living through the
millions of years,
a laugh as close as any tear;
living, if you claim that all
that entails is breathing, eating,
defacating, screwing, drinking, spewing,
sleeping, sinking ever down and down
and ultimately passing away time which
no longer has any meaning.
Take away the threat of death and all
you're left with is a round
if make-believe.
Marshall every sullen breath and though
you're ultimately bored by endless ectasy
it's still the ring by which you hope to be
engaged
to marry the girl who will give you
forever - it's crazy and plainly
that simply is not enough.
What is this dulles and bluntest of pains,
such that my eyes never close without
feeling it there?
What abject despair demands an end to
all things of infinity?
If we have gained, how do we now meet
the cost?
What have we bargained, and what have
we lost?
What have we relinquished, never
knowing it was thee?
What thoughts now of holding fast the
line, defying death and time?
Everything we had is gone,
everything we laboured for and favoured
more that earthly things reveals
the hollow ring of false hope and
false deliverance.
But now the nuptial bed is made, the
dowry has been paid:
the toothless, haggard features of eternity
now welcome me between the sheets
to couple with her withered body -
my wife.
Hers forever,
hers forever,
hers forever,
in still life