On Being Poem by David Mitchell

Thus to be lock’d in an eternal present,
As that that shall be future turns to past,
To me this seems horrendously unpleasant,
When life, we know, must end in death at last.

And for this reason memory was given
That we might recollect what is no more,
Remembering past joys when we are driven
To suff’ring now, when we did not before.

And for so long as our frail life shall linger,
And at one blow convert itself to death,
Hope, given to us by life’s almighty Bringer,
Stays, not destroy’d until our latest breath.

(Sunday,28th August,2005; slightly revised, Monday,31st October,2005.)