Mortality

Time
How much lies ahead?
Much less than has passed
Since my entry to this stream
Where my spirit slowly drowns
In fear of the end of my mortal shell
Do I have an everlasting soul?
Or will there be nothing left of me?
The end of my poetic endeavor?
I know I cannot be zoetic forever
Immortal is impossible but life was improbable
Before opening the portal of the mortal world
So I will leave my artistic remnants behind
For the future to dig up and possibly remind
Unborn poets that will keep my verse breathing
Long after my last warm breath is exhaled
Finger painted secretly In icy condensation
Engraved in the fabric of elastic memory
Where poetry may be fossilized for eternity