Beyond What Is Improvable Poem by Mark Heathcote

What wouldn't you do to extend your life?
Or your youth; which is more desirable
An afterlife or not being, found, certifiable.

Are there any parables we can rationalize
That combines these two rivals, not as foes
Sure it'd be better to accept what bestows?

Change is inevitable forget them, surgeons
Their promises are hollow and verbose
They only furnish your ego's voice worthless

-ness, leaving you feeling empty, predispose
To intense emotions of negativity, undesirable
And even on self-reflection, unrecognizable.

Except whom you, really are: the good the bad
And even the damned worn-out wrinkled ugly
Feel better, by having your own, natural vivacity.

Real beauty openly houses unguarded contraband.
So, darling, I forbid you to look any more beautiful
To me, you are already, beyond what is improvable.