Ephemeral thoughts are frozen
on the lines before my eyes.
Against the deaths that time must bring
they might as well be lies,
But somehow in the moment's light,
with life's demanding cries
Echoing around my head it seems
that nothing dies.
That can't be right! (they tell me)
for I've wept at funeral's cold,
Walked a mile in heart's despair,
(and suspect I'm growing old),
And know that lambs get slaughtered
in the safety of the fold,
And know that life, so cheaply bought,
is probably cheaply sold.
But even with the fear I have
(that Final War is nigh)
And even though in dreams I see
the death snow in the sky,
And recognizing history's rede
(that everything must die)
Somehow in the moment's light
it seems that death's the lie.