Mortals

You poor mortal souls.
Trapped inside bodies that slowly dismantle and decay
all while you watch
and feel yourselves growing more feeble with every passing moment.

It must be torture
to be blessed with a physical form
but have its health be finite
and your limits binding.

We the spirits of above and below
shudder to imagine it.
We who exist from one age to the next
and watch as your civilizations fall.
We the strong where you are weak.
We whose souls create worlds innumerable.

We will watch you
and laugh.
But will always wonder...
what it feels like when the sun caresses you
and if the eternity of death is cold.