Every Time I Die I Go To Sleep Poem by James McLain

Each moment falls like petals from the rose,
A fleeting scent the evening breeze may keep.
Each death I die, the door swings closed,
And still I dream in shadows deep.

The past dissolves like dew in morning light,
Its whispers fading, lost among the trees.
No tether holds me back, no tether binds,
I drift, unmoored, where endless seas release.

The present sings—a thread of golden fire,
Alive in every breath, in every spark.
What use to mourn the ashes of desire,
When life awaits beyond the veils of dark?

The future beckons softly, yet untold,
A canvas bare, a story yet to mold.
Each time I die, I lay the weight to rest,
And wake reborn with hope alight, undressed.

Here, now, I stand, no shadows at my feet,
The present blooms, its fruit a gift to eat.