Joy of Poetic Death

I will die if I wake up in a dream and find myself on the page of a book. I will die if I wake up and find this is a dream. I will die if I wake up and find myself on a book. I would be dead if I awoke and found my dream so gone. May be I would still die if I discover it was only a dream. I want to stay awake and be up when come death to carry me away. I want to live my life on the lane; the clear lines on a page. On the fast lane I dwell indeed, I want to live a thriller and die be dead and come to live again, Creating rhyming lines of epic poetry. I really need to die soon and live fully in the transformation of light and dark that illuminates life and death..... Experiencing the joy of my own death. If life and death was purely a dream one that could kill me dead on the virgin page of my open book.... Then in poetry I would feel the joy. If the virgin lifestyle is an empty dream then in death I pray for an open book which is where I truly long to live: Painting experiences of my eternal life. For sure I want to live and die transversing the yearning lane that defines the parameters of my poetry When I wake up and just find myself dead. Poetry is surely an artistic lifestyle When you die and soon out you fly Observing your experiences from the cloudy sky Then you relive your life in lines of poetry.