Mortality Is Stalking Me

I feel Mortality stalking me.

Its cold, dry hands encircling my throat.

The bright vigor of youth has vanished and has been replaced by the dark complacency of old age.

Impatient Time is not my friend and is not to be taken for granted.

Age, that infernal succubus, drains my manhood whilst I fitfully dream of past victories.

I fear the unknowable, the eternity which encompasses my fragile and tenuous position on the timeline of human history.

I defy you, Mortality, with every stroke of my pen!

I challenge you to a duel for the ages!

I will not lie quietly while any literate and sentient being strides above my final repository!

The time to act is now while the flame of youth transpires to the embers of age!

Let it never be said by scholars, historians, or artists who might be misled, "There it is done! The Last Living Poet is Dead!"