The Gates of Oblivion

I arrived at the gleaming gates of Oblivion,
where some of us, younger than the rest, enter.
I patted the gatepost, like the oldest of friends,
then feeling the wrinkled inscription beneath my fingers.
My name was carved deeply into the stone:
"I've always wanted to be here".
My heart quickened
and the soothing smell of eternity tried to comfort me,
offering itself to me, offering myself to it.
A melody, such as those of the Sirens, drawing me
in and in. The white light warming my cold body,
my limbs softening and becoming weightless.
Deep sorrow gripped my mind, this isn't what I thought I would feel.
I must leave. I must return. The air turned cold. Putrid.
I took a breath. Cold, damp floor. Under my body.
Stone and leaves. The naked branches mourning
their summer blossoms, now brown and brittle,
falling down like tears on the gravestones below.
Slowly trying to find my feet, "I'm still here".
Leaving the cemetery behind I began my long journey home.