Aubade for the Self That Has to Go

You could love life too much,
Worsen the addiction
From which all lives suffer,

If you took sage advice
To savor each moment
And rejoice in each day.

This is speculative,
Obviously. Intense
Lovers of life don’t die

Extra-miserable deaths,
As far as you can see.
Maybe life rewards them.

Loving life is the first
Addiction, and maybe,
Of all cravings, the best.

You wake to fresh sunlight
And small, brightly lit clouds
Ornamenting rose skies

At your bedside window.
Your thoughts leap up, a flare
Of euphoric delight.

It feels good, and you know,
For that reason, you will
Want it again, want more.