eternity's yield

Eternity, no!
Who'd want that, even if
we get to spend it luxuriating
in the most refined of pleasures?
If nothing ages, nothing
deepens. I have no interest
in day after day after day
(to the nth power times
the nth power)
of childish appreciation of
phenomena, if all we're granted
is the ability to converse
about,
exclusively,
how cool
something is.
Better oblivion,
better Sheol,
better a haphazard scheme of return to
the mortal world for some vaguely just cause,
than an infinite stretch of acceptance
of nothing but the universe's finest
half-assery, for half-assery
is eternity's yield.
Better death, birth, flaking away,
the worst of senescence,
than the static lie.
How cool.