I fear not my own death, for I've accepted my fate
or rather, that I won't have to mourne my own loss;
that after my full numbing to nothing, I won't feel it.
Selfish. Nevertheless, a means to a meaningful end.
That which I do fear greatly is the death of others,
for in that I have no control, only the battle between
nothing and everything that will wage within, hollow
trench warfare, it is always darkest before dawn.
Odd how feeling empty is part of rounding out experience
that wisdom is not encompassed in filling up, but also
co-existing with the breaking down, the inevitable natural status
that so harshly reminds us that we're still just animals.
So I ask myself, what is a better way to live--for me, for all?
Wage a lifelong war, prolonging the consummation with Death,
or forget long enough to experience a fulfilled, albeit limited life?
And then I know, the beauty lies exactly in making that decision.
