Immortal

I’m tired of writing poems, I’d rather write

A flaming melody to make men dance.

I’m tired of staying home, someday I might

Expend my efforts on a half mad chance.

 

I’m tired of reading books, I’d rather read

Men’s minds; even the parts they haven’t seen.

I’m tired of bleeding blood, I’d rather bleed

Pure love; until physicians intervene.

I’m tired of leading men, I’d rather lead

An angel army wielding starlight keen.

I’m tired of needing men, I’d rather need

The North and South and everything between.

 

I’m tired of breathing air, I think perhaps

I’ll breathe pure gold until my lungs collapse.