Life is a collection
of moments and false dreams
that have been romanticized,
satirized, and blasphemed,
by imagination.

It is nothing more
than these fragments
of fading memories.

But could finding
feeling free from
neurons and neuroses
transcend one
above the living?

Could Heaven
be not a place
but a state of mind?

An ideal imbalance
of pheromones
and chemicals
that allows for
nervous bliss.

The capacity to give
oneself wholly
without knowing why.

Perhaps Romantics
pass young
by surrendering
to the Truth
they would die for.

I'd rather leave as
a Martyr to the Myth,
than live a fool without Love.