The Death of I

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There are countless ways to die:

One can fall to their death—
Plummet from the gripless sky.

They can lose infinite breath,
Or get impaled through their eye.

They can seek out every answer—
Never find out what they seek—

Won’t stop flesh feasting cancer,
No matter how humble or meek.

Yes, there are multiple ways to die—

To say otherwise, a lack of breadth—
Who am I to write down a lie?

But worse to experience the depth
Of death’s permanence—gone awry—

Like Prometheus, though I never stole fire,
Nor gave what doesn’t belong to people.

A faithful life lived—given to the pyre—
Never consumed while affixed to a steeple.

Certainly, there are many ways to die,

None seeming worse
Than the death of I.

© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.

Tittu