Vital urge

A late-night storm. I hear a fly arrive,
Half waking me in panic to survive.
Drowsy, I trudge alone where once we walked,
Keeping now silent council where we talked.

Sleep intervenes, the vision loses force,
But deep within the muse pursues her course.
Man slips into the world from mother's womb
And exits willy-nilly to the tomb.

Though life be short, art ventures to be long,
Crafting a legacy to spite the storm,
Daring throughout the ages to perform
The ceaseless task to keep the spirit strong.