memento mori

i wish to be a poet 
and run away with my love,
so it can be preserved like
our innocence before the
corruption seized it like dogs. 

i wish to be a poet,
so biding time seems less like 
a chore and more like a gift 
from fate itself saying “live 
with intention, because life 

is short.” i wish to be a
poet, so i can write to
my love, give his new-old soul
the care a childhood could
never warmly bestow him. 

i wish to be a poet,
and cast my hearts line out to
people who feel as i do. 
the page, pleading, says to “live
with intention, because life

is transient.” i wish to 
be a poet, but being 
a nomad writer proves to
be consequential. yet
my loves abating words

say, “live, my love, with your heart
kept as true as the words on
this page you claim is power
that you alone control. life
is short, make your wish come true.”