All Die Once

Talking heads on magic screens:
emphatically, they share their dreams.
As its most important gift,
time for life will never shift;
though the world seems still enough, they warn,
when beset by ennui’s spiteful thorn,
thus, the target’s raised above the spot,
and they warn you of your single shot.

So though it will not stand, they say,
we ought not waste that gift today.
Embrace it now the night sun glares
and breach life’s iron gates. In pairs
now roll sad abstinence to dust;
attempt not to control your lust
for the noise that masks the playful cheers,
and the substances the preacher fears.

While to this I truly don’t demur
(no pious ethics do I prefer),
it cannot be denied, I think,
that none can any further sink
than to condemn the yield of freedom fruits
from less gregarious pursuits:
the open road, to quietly give,
yes- all die once, but not all live.