These things I do became a dream, ages ago.
And that I am living, these tendrils of hopes breathe till tomorrow
when I will pass into seeming nothingness.

Having whispered my desire to whom,
at this time, seems my confidant, patient listener and willing ally,
my dear lover, Life,
I can see, this amicable, congenial partner will soon enough turn her ear.

She has done this to our vacuous speciae, and brainless intelligent bacteria, and will complete this cycle infinitely.

All I can do is enter these dreams, as sound, thought, light, dark, whatever it may take...
To last one more day...
In any conceivable way.