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Am I forced to retire
when this body expires?
Caused to abandon
my ponderings?
Unable to continue
the wanderings
of my imagination?
Unwilling to relinquish
the squandering of my time,
will I be allowed to fight
for the right to muse?
To grapple with
the “whys” of my moods,
of my purpose,
of my existence?
Can I continue
to be insistent
about what I think
I know is true,
what I believe in
without having proof
nor confirmation?
Firmly clenched
in consternation,
will my brainwaves
continue to race,
even accelerate
as my respiratory rate
and pulse pace
grind to a halt?
As my body yields
to time’s assault,
will I find fault
or perfection
in my reflections
on my embodiment’s
temporal nature,
be reabsorbed
by a Creator
or dissipate
into the vastness
of the universe?
Am I consciousness
or was I human first?
Where do I look
to find answers?
- HymnAgen
