The Cost of Being Eternal

 The Cost of Being Eternal

I was born in 1972,

Long before the Great Ozone Death.

Back when the oceans and skies were still blue,

and oxygen filled every breath.

 

For decades we bathed in these fountains of youth,

Discovered in 2055.

Making lengthy our life and beauty our truth,

Addicted to the bodily revive.

  

We no longer have such a treasured pool,

Since Global Warming has withered it dry.

I now turn 200, an old desperate fool,

Fiending for a new “youth supply”.

 

As I feel my age heavy, and my health decline,

I know I must make drastic change.

Leaving this world far, far behind,

On a rocket ship I must arrange.

 

I gather the contents of my small estate,

To sell for fair cost in the market.

Every farthing and dollar go to my fate,

One ticket to Altair, my target.

 

They tell me that Altair will provide me my fix,

Blessed health and the beauty of a starlet.

I will live on forever, with other addicts,

A relapse of younger self incarnate.

 

I gather my daughter, her son, and some friends,

For dinner and one last farewell.

They promise to join me one day as Godsends,

We toast to LIFE with a nice Zinfandel.

 

I think of their faces as I climb aboard,

The shuttle that will carry me beyond.

My memories will be the umbilical cord,

Connecting us with their invisible bond.

 

As take-off ensues, I enjoy a deep sleep,

Courtesy of the drug they provided.

If counting sheep was the means, then I was Bo-Peep,

awakening only when Altair was sighted.

 

“Here we go,” I thought as I gathered my things,

And de-planed from the long journey made.

Greeted at the concourse by Altairlings,

Unaware of the impending slave trade.

 

At first my new life was beyond reproach,

Swimming in pristine pools of youth.

I felt age give way, to new life’s approach,

As rewarding, as sugar to a sweet tooth.

 

The weeks went by, as things slowly changed,

New curfew, limitations, and rules.

“Lights out at 7!” The “hostess” proclaimed,

Behind us doors lock in our vestibules.

 

When we awaken, they shuffle us in,

To cruisers with hard hats and tools.

Right past the waters that nourish our skin,

To caverns that house valuable jewels.

 

“There is no free ride!” with outrage they scream,

“It’s time you fools earn your keep!”

“You’ve incurred a debt! It’s your youth we redeem!”

“What you have sown, you must also reap!”

 

And so we work, in their dark dusty mines,

Digging jewels from sunup to sundown.

Exchanging our freedom for their confines,

Immortality, under lockdown.

 

If we step out of line, or our yield is small,

We are met with harsh words and beatings.

It’s man against man, as we work for a haul,

And each of us dreams of conceding.

 

For one hour daily, I soak in the lake,

Getting the fix that I crave.

And think of my daughter and grandson Jake,

Scared they’ll arrive in the next wave.

 

I must find a way, to tell them to stay,

Where they have freedom for living. 

A natural life, With age and decay,

I see now is a thing for Thanksgiving.

 

And so, I dig, under great strain and toil,

Swiftly enacting my plan.

Plucking a jewel, from beneath the soil,

Once sold! I go back where I began.

 

I know full and well; this will mean my demise,

My days to come, numbered and few.

I’m ready for death, I realize,

If my family has their freedom to look to.