Punctured and Porous, I Become
Death punctured a hole in my soul, not the first and not the last,
and bequeathed as its gift a perpetual emptiness.
The longer I live, the more punctured and porous I become,
growing ever more so with each loss.
I stand poised and proper, as dictated,
yet left with little more than an aging shell and a fragmented spirit.
Elusive power - change this life-death cycle! But alas that power belongs to mythic gods, of which I am not - I am only skin, and bones, and fingernails, and hair.
Death must live, and life must die.
This is our legacy.