In the realm of romantic idealism.

I'm beginning to wonder. If my days are severely numbered. Maybe I have a year or two left. If I'm lucky.  I'm losing heart. In more than one way. Time to prepare to die. If I'm able to survive. For several more years. It'll be with a significantly different lifestyle. Slower-paced. Less stress. Though that may be difficult to achieve. With the knowledge. That I may die at any time. Of course. That's always been a peril of life itself. From Day One.  But it was easier to evade the prospect of death. At any moment. Now I am finally recognizing my mortality.  Can't say that I am afraid to die. It's more a case of reluctance. I'd like to milk a little more out of life. On the assumption that there will be no more. That this is the only life I will ever have. The only consolation. This is better than absolutely nothing. To having never lived. In a sense, I will end up with absolutely nothing. I still hold out the hope. That there is something. Beyond my natural physical life.  A surviving conscious spirit. That would be nice, I'm supposing. The launching of another adventure.  In the realm of romantic idealism. --Jim Broede