If (Lupa)

If I were to reach the end of days; not sullied by time, the world and the people in it-
in that I were to proscribe, to myself, a measure of individuality in each day and not act like a complete tit,
yet not slip and roll into the chaotic storms of proving that I were an individual:

If I were to see one final setting sun, having drank my fill of life and, to myself, been loyal-
not spiteful of what could have been, what grudges were to keep and those made vain by attending an academ roial,
yet not become fodder, forgetting faith and courage and disappearing into the soft and gentle night:

If I were to love and hate in equal measure, as my mother has taught, as life has taught, a bright light-
from which I could inspire and know that, as the seals break, hooves thunder and trumpet sounds; I would not fear the blight,
yet not be foolish enough to think myself beyond judgement and reprimand, rather instead calm and composed:

If I were to speak my mind and not become drunk on the power that such freedom brings, wisdom closed-
in that, outside of my own intellect, there is a void where I can still grow and, by my own hands, not let learning be opposed,
yet not let my mind become tainted and ridiculed by; ifs, maybes, and perhaps:

If I were to reach the end of days; the last warmth, the final light and the end note, as worlds collapse,
yet not be arrogant or doubtful, fragile of sinful, greedy or regretful; as these brief and innocent days elapse.
Then I would be a woman, my mother made proud, and, even more, mine would be the earth and everything that's in it.