How old would I be if I didn`t know how old I am?

I would be ageless.

Boundless.

I would fly through life like Peter Pan,

oblivious to the adult`s greater plan.

I would be young and old, the ages of time

would be within me all at once,

And I would be enough.

Being too small would not exist.

Being too young would be an urban legend.

"You`ll understand when you`re older"

I would answer, "I am old enough."

But we all grow regardless of age.

I would be taught by life and learn from mistakes.

If there is no age for people to use against me,

I would be free to remain young until my body withers

and fades.

No age means no boundaries. No cage to feel trapped in.

I would be the master of my own fate.

I would have no age.

It`s all the same, day after day.

This bed in which I lay,

will it be the tomb where I`ll waste away?

I wake up in the morning,

and I sigh with great mourning.

Is it not cruel that I should be forced

away from the oblivion of my dreams?

Is it not foul that I must watch the thread

lose its seam?

Reality, what an irony.

I wish not to spend my time in it,

yet every morning I wake all the same.

Woe and pain!

But fear not, for I do:

If I escape reality all together,

how will my sanity pull through?

If I give myself entirely to the world of

blissful oblivion,

this bed will most certainly become my tomb.

So, at the break of dawn each unavoidable day,

my heart sighs forlorn but I rise anyway.

I do not desire to know why,

I do not ask what motivates me for nothing does.

I simply do what I always do.

I force my tired, weak body to push through

and here we are; another day.

In this limbo I must stay

until the Reaper takes me away.

Here I am, finally,

a breath away from peace.

I`ve walked this life, so tiredly,

finding solace among the trees.

I have dreamt and hoped and wished for death,

to take the hand of The Reaper.

All these years short on breath,

I have longed for the calm of the Final Sleeper.

Now, on my humble bed with angels by my side,

I put away my regrets,

I no longer fear those tides.

I will be going soon,

to meet all who I have lost.

I do not cry for their tearful tunes,

I am ready to pay the cost.

They will miss me and ache for a while,

but death is the natural way of things

And I meet him with a smile.

I do love you, my living loved ones,

But I am old and it is my time.

Do not listen to those woeful drums,

Know in your heart that we will meet again,

Sometime.

Surrender?

You mean to give in?

To let go of the breath that suffocates me?

There is something you can not see,

the turmoil and conflict within

will not rest if I surrender.

Do I let my knees cave

beneath the weight of the rock?

"Surrender your heart to me

and know what it is like to be free."

I close my eyes and count to three,

"One: I will carry this stone.

Two: I will break through.

Three: You can not set me free."

I write my own story

and this is how it goes;

Even if it does kill me,

I will carry my own throes.