Mankind doth die too many times
and least of these is mortal death.
Our thoughts commit a thousand crimes,
our heart's fierce fire, it vanisheth.
That we could keep passion a-glow
and mute the head that makes us tire.
A thousand deaths we would not know,
a thousand joys it would inspire.
When shall we ever face the truth
and live in the light of eternal now,
to reclaim the contentment of our youth,
to forgive and to live free somehow?
We wouldn't perish every day,
but depart when we were old and grey.
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