Franz Bretano once said
the categorical proposition that
'all men are mortal' has
the same meaning as the existential proposition
that 'an immortal man does not exist.'

But what is it to be
and who are those beings
that pause on a point outside time?
as the sun goes down on All Hallow's Eve
and fire holds the dark at bay when Pooka
lurks shape shifting between sun down
and sun rise. It's a dire fear that beats
my heart as I feel ghosts fuse the night
and life's circle becomes a line
sweeping into my future. Then I question
the existence of the dream I live and I ponder,
is it our own that comes back to raise
a glass in the knowledge that they have found
somewhere better and Pooka is warning me
to stay and play and pay my dues?

2006 - Fitzpatrick