Do I really want to live forever? Do you want to live forever?
With all our history at our disposal, why can we not put ourselves into the immortal’s shoes and see the folly of our actions? All the books written, the songs sung, all the stories told – they all say the same thing.

The first century was the hardest.


Love’s thin, translucent hands withered,

leaving a map of blue veins

leading to the graves of my children


and their children too.



An undisolved stone remained lodged in my throat;

a monument to sorrow and grief.



Life is long, while lives are short.


The stone hardens into something quieter;

a permanent hum of melancholy.



I sought adventure as distraction,

learning not to love the impermanent;


the candles easily extinguished with a breath.



Recognising patterns as inspiration for movement,

this golden age has gone.


Time is long until time is short

and wisdom may be lost to boredom.


Having seen it all before,

histories so often repeated;

sandcastles forever falling to the tides.


I long for the end;

the only desire left.