A/N: This is a poem about "carpe diem" or seizing the day. It is meant to be encouraging, not gloomy, despite the subject matter. This poem is basically about making the best of the time that you have. The reason it talks about authors and books is because my personal goal is becoming a published author, so this poem is kind of me talking to and encouraging myself.

Death comes, we know not when,
the end draws nigh ere you could begin,
Shadows lie, footsteps on the floor,
Go! there knocks Death at your door,

And afterwards, say, what awaits?
Another life, or sweet heaven's gates?
An infinite sleep? will I dissipate?
Or a new body, and to reincarnate?

Should we even begin to ponder,
what lies after, and so far yonder?
Should we wonder our time away?
Or say "carpe diem"; "seize the day"?

I don't know if after there's life,
But I know that now is joy and strife,
"Someday, I'll do it, oh, someday,"
You tell me, that's what you say,

But the days, you see, they never last,
Time flies, and yes, it does fly fast,
No time to put off, no time to fear,
Because, my friend, Death is here,

So do it now; now, or not at all,
Someday, that is, you'll have a pall,
Authors, write, and please be fast,
Between the years, you are the dash,

You could refute, you could tell me,
That you don't know what you might be
An angel, a spirit, a ghost, or a spook,
But a dead author can't publish a book,