‘Twas the Night before Christmas, and all through the house;
Not a creature was stirring, except me,
Butchering the rhyme a bit as you can see.
I sat here thinking, of times long past;
Trying to come up with a line that would last.
For life is so fleeting and is gone so fast,
And death is the one thing that we cannot outlast.
I look at my health, and I look at my life,
And I worry about what might come to light.
It’s not right to think of these things,
Nor to dwell on the dark.
The holidays are a time to be full of light and lark.
Not a time for stuff of such gloom.
But still I wondered, alone in my room;
Thinking of why it matters that I am alive.
What purpose I serve, and what meaning I hold.
So that I might feel closure as I grow grey and old.
The sadness boiled as I saw that my answer lacked.
That maybe I will be nothing when my vision goes black.
So sitting here I pondered, and looked for a purpose beyond;
Something to bet my soul on.
The night grew longer and I stared at the screen,
Scrounging for what it might all mean.
I looked at blogs and I read them each,
Hoping someone might have found a breach.
A hope for freedom from the mortal coil.
Free from an agony of toil.
Till the idea hit me like a shot,
And I realized that it wasn’t all for naught.
“Immortality is flawed,” I said with a start,
“But I can live forever through my art!”
Not just that, I realized, but through all of you,
And my family too.
You share your souls, and I share right back;
And even if I was struck down with a heart attack,
You would all remember me, and I will remember you.
Every time we write a word, or sing a little song,
We leave a mark on this world,
That will last twice as long!
As long as we create, we can beat death!
For we are artists that this world will never forget!”