Never, he said, would I feel the pull of gravity on my skin,

or the pains of growth in my bones. 

Forever.

Beauty preserved like a relic ship in a clear-glass bottle.

A defensive wall, keeping out the dust and decay. 

But once it departs into the cloudless bubble, there it will forever sit. 

An evanescent trophy on a bookcase, growing in maturity--

passed from one generation to the next

until all that's left of its maker is a botched name. 

 

 

"Welcome to Neverland," he said. 

This is your home. 

Quickly had I volunteered to preserve what precious years I had left. 

Utopia. 

No rules. No wrinkles. No adults. 

Mistaken was I that Forever is an acquaintance, quickly passing by.

In reality, it is a close friend that lingers near. 

A lustful parasite. 

Sucking, draining, stealing what true life is left in me. 

 

 

A soulless entity now possesses me. 

For infity has passed by me,

and I'm still here on the shore waiting--

waiting for my ship to carry me towards the distant light,

becoming more and more blind as I stare at the forever setting sun.  

No. 

My ship is encased in its round glass coffin where it forever sits. 

Never again will it glide against the upward, pointing waves, 

or feel the pull of wind through its masts and sails,

carrying me home. 

Yet here I still am--waiting.