You are not a possession.
You do not belong to me or any other;
You belong to yourself,
And who you choose to dole out grace to
Is just that: a choice.
For as much power as you wield,
You cannot prevent the world’s pain,
And in the end, there will be obliteration.
Woe for this apocryphal regime
I alone elected into power,
Knowing full well the gambit I took;
But what choice was there, really,
In light of your necromancy—
Resurrecting me, even if for yourself?
You had attributed my altruism to kindness,
But I have never claimed to be a good man,
And I attest now I am no such thing;
I am selfish, seeking to extend this life—
This fleeting blessing you bestowed—
And though you would never admit it,
You know the truth.
Despite the sheer terror that subjugates my spirit,
I thank you still,
But as I learn time and again,
Life does not last,
And in the end death will always conquer.
At least it was a beautiful life.