The true death that I fear,

More than any I know,

Is not the little death of sweaty sex,

nor the big end due us all,

but the death of my mind,

a creative block in my life,

the slow, creeping grey of bland and blase autumn

into this spring youth I carry within my head,

for the eternity to come.

So send me once more into the void, and let me emerge

carrying within my arms and soul a child of new thought, ideas, and hope,

that all things can change, and eventually may,

that all people will see, and judge as they will,

and that those who have been lost in vision may once again be shown the splendors that we have around us.