Hopeful Arrogance

In this, my midlife
death is no longer the hypothetical
concept it used to be.
In my youth
death tickled like the vampire legend
lumped into the category of werewolves
and leprechauns, a scary consideration
to elicit chills,
virtual entertainment for the soul,
but unlike the chicken pox
something I would never catch.

Now death edges closer
daring me to escape his tap
giggling at the audacity of
trying to outrun him.
Oh, the hopeful arrogance
that promised a fuzzy exemption
from the one assurance in life.
Now the veil is lifted
and no longer can I linger
in the illusion of my omnipotence
over death's call

All I can hope for now
is more time
everyday, a little
more time
and the wisdom to know
it isn't something I'm owed

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