could you write me a poem about the inevitability of death from the perspective of a goldfish?
I can't resist an opportunity to produce incongruous aesthetics.
--
No word of death or danger
from my keepers.
They feed me manna,
they let me swim.
--
Yet I lie aflame
with invisible fire.
My life has no ending,
but somehow it's not long.
--
I feel as if I have been a child
and am now ready for adulthood
but cannot accept it.
I want to change.
--
Right now
the water is a mild blue.
The sky is gray.
My life is stagnant.
--
That's not true.
I have a life --
I just feel it less than before.
--
I fluctuate
with the day-to-day
changes in the world.
I grow and die
with each minute.
--
I accept that.
Some thoughts seem
to come from the water.
--
I found a colored rock.
No one saw it
but me. I took it.
I have it still.
--
I wish
I could hear and see
my keepers
talking to each other
as they fill my tank
with the water
that flushes me alive
and makes me think
this is good.










