I had six lives.
Five, which were caged,
One, which I raged.
None as fulfilling as the last.


Alas,
I am here again.
For the seventh isn’t my end,
But the beginning.
For vanity’s grip —
Death’s grip has played my truth.

To see,
Or not to see.
To flee,
Or not to flee.
The future waits for no one.

In repetition,
A new future leads.
On a little ship,
I read the waves that bound me.

A scope in hand,
An empty map to meed.
With sheer will,
And the growing determination is all I need.