"Nothing dies but that which never lived"

Fashion this, from the Irony
Of the world

  That I, the undaunted Laureate of the place, daunted in some
  Un as yet/ed pre tense of what they see, they be
  As if, such where they was
  Was yet to be, and then to say
  They is, and is not, like revelations, wow!
  Humans. The skin, the lodging inside dumbness a slight breeze frees
  they speech
  To speak as if acquainted with small things in the world. Eating,
  Belching, Farting, Murder, Robbery.
  And so. As if, and them too they is. But nothing further
  But the wee dots on the deletion resembling the minds of them
  Yet to come.