Never Dead

I slept late this morning,
drifting in that place that is
half dream, half aware,
transitioning between two worlds effortlessly,
between the bazaar and the peaceful,
from a place where faces change in a blink
and scenery dissolves in front of you
like a wet watercolor in the rain,
to feeling every small ache
in a body too old for the heart it contains.

I slept late, unwilling
to commit my soul to either world,
wanting, desperately,
to live in both, hungry
to see what happens, what could come
of two places, both of which felt
incomplete.

But entire worlds dissolve. This I know.
Life, this one and Morpheus’ own,
is never done, for it is not our place
to find the end.

That is not how life works,
for there is no end
to adventures, to the changes
and dangers and love,
and when there is,
you are truly dead,
not at the hands of others
but of your own satisfaction.