Beneath Inconspicuous Lies Poem by Blanche Hardin

I spend most of my life in fear.
The fear of getting closer to death,
And the End coming near.
How could I live this way when I’ve the ability of immortality,
But not to go back in time or walk through a portal of imperfect reality.
Still that ability is waiting to be unlocked,
Therefore that instance of my mind;
That key is blocked.
So everyday that I’m not what I long to be,
Hangs over above and looks down on me.
It laughs in my face,
And cries in my grace.
Though wanting something that is against God,
Leaves me desprate, deformed, and depressingly odd.