I Wish to Live Not Survive: an Antichrist poem

In days of yore, when toil was rife, And hallowed dreams of fleeting life; One bard declared, amidst the strife, "I wish to live, not just survive." Upon the world our bard did long, For life, not held by fate's strong throng. Enraptured by a boundless throng, His heart cried, "Live whilst I am strong!" Though life appeared a fearsome grind, His soul to circumstance did bind. Arousing from the chains that bind, His spirit sought new paths to find. "A life like specter, wan and faint, Not that I wish, nor that acquaint, But in the realm, standing more quaint; Not hologram, I'll be a saint." Amidst the hours, nine to five, Found dread in him did thus contrive, With thought of early grave less rife, Forego mere fate, but live true life. Entreating ever an eager prayer, His pleadings to the heavens fair, Say, "Give me but a short life's fare, With joy and vigor, rich and rare." Yet should the wheel verily turn, And age and stooped shoulders yearn, I'd sooner die though haste, I'd spurn, Not old and filled with deep-regret burn. Thus, make thy mark upon this yearn, To live each day, not merely churn. With ardent eyes set wide and stern, Die young 'n satisfied, forever burn.