‘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!”