"Forever"
It’s a blessing and a curse
that we don’t live forever.
We remain whilend
yet days seem like years, years like days,
and mortality inumbrates the present.
What would it be like,
to disenthrall from fear?
To flee rampant around dreams
like butterflies around wildflowers,
intoxicated on pollen and flight?
Would we paint in
wine colours and pastels
or strokes of lilac and orange?
Could we merely exist
without requiring purpose?
Tell me, what would it take
to simply feel alive
forever?
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