Only One

A taxi driver reminded me I was 
mortal. This life is
the only one I’ve ever known 
so it’s easy to forget that
it’s precious.
Abundant but priceless:
the usual rules don’t apply 
when you’re talking about
Superstition sowed the seeds of
solipsism. This life is the only one
I’ve ever known
so it’s hard to think that
it’s not special.
I seek fame for validation
of my divinity,
then reject my grandiosity;
meditate on my mortality. 
I fell for the reflection in the
mirror. My image is the
only one I see,
so it’s hard to believe that
it wasn’t meant to be.
Faith in fate brings reassurance
that this narrative 
will end in a blaze of glory:
a hero’s denouement.
Rebellion is curbed by
self-consciousness. Being
the only one is lonely,
so it’s easy to see why so few
reach the top.
I idolise the übermensch
but find comfort as the everyman,
succumb to conformity
while aiming for the galaxies.
Vicarious voyeurism steers this
vessel. This body is
the only one I’ve ever owned
so it’s hard to shake the feeling that
they’re watching.
We flaunt our peacock feathers,
amplify our sound,
all to attract their gaze,
then hide when our cover is blown.
Silent, we float in solitary
space. Connection helps us
that we’re not the only ones
suspended in experience.
Hands outstretched,
we bleed just to make contact,
we martyrs to the solitude,
searching for an end,
searching for more than
only one.