Transcendence, by Ian Fletcher

I am too old to harbour
the delusions of youth
or the fraught ambitions
of tortuous middle age
and though my hopes
have all come to naught
evaporated like the dew
I have crossed at last
that shadow line that
borders death’s domain
where the sure knowledge
of my own annihilation
frees me from regretting
the paths trod or untrod
in my ever receding past
as now I have transcended
all petty desires and fears
having escaped the prison
of the self and may simply
look at the sea, stars or trees
for my soul to be at ease.