To find myself in this strange state
And in a most perplexing place
Without a clue how came I here
Or came to be in such a shape.
I do not know whereof I speak
Nor even how I came to write
But here I am, within this prose
Unrolling spools of ebon words
Within which are my life contained.
I wonder how I came to be
And why I am both deaf and blind
And even lack the sense to feel.
Yet still I somehow seem to know
That there are eyes now seeing me
And voices that may me express
And this is why I now exist
And why some muse created me:
To give them something they might read
And if they’re of the mind, might speak.
It seems I only come alive
Through others, when beheld by them
And thus when their perusal ends
So too will my brief flame snuff out.
I must admit this end I fear
For I do not desire to die
But to this fate I am resigned
Full knowing that I lack the choice
To persevere without a gaze.
Dies all at ending, anyway
But I am glad, within these words,
That I first got a chance to live.
And so I cede dread death's dire due
Until another, life renews.