I do not fear to die - I fear instead
To not be me - and who knows whether death
(Which I might look on with a greater dread
Where I made certain that a lack of breath
Should equal this) brings self-cessation? Sure
It seems it must - at least the self I know.
And though some comfort that it has no cure
Coming to all, and since we all must go
We might as well not fear it, I cannot
Accept that as a comfort. For to cease
No matter what discomfort I have got
Or look to have - I cannot think it peace.
A lack of pain, indeed - but peace requires
Knowledge of peace - which who has, who expires?
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