New Leaf

[Dandeli]

Death; how it would come for us like the changing of the seasons.

  

We do not move the world - the world would move us; it is an inevitable part of this cycle, of which so much beauty is sown therein.

This I have learned. Seasons turn brings forth life anew, and then takes it away; a picture like the waxing and waning tide.

 
 

This is fine.

 
 

Death is an impartial fellow; the wintry chill and the torrid summer heat does not hold hate, nor discriminates.

All deaths aren't especially terrible. The High King, the paltry-gnawing peasant, a hero of great deeds, a villain of abhorrence.

  

Your age, your personality - wealth, beauty, status.

They are all meaningless in the face of death.

 

Death comes for all; the big fish and the one small.

Death is a necessity.

  

Yet for many it is not so equal.

  

For many one would breathe in excruciating agony, drink deep of sorrow's venom.

An answer is owed at the end of life's trip; why is one to suffer and die?

  
 Many receive gates unto newer pastures, brighter fields.

And yet many would be bound in inexplicable agony, anchored to the depths, never to find the strength to continue.

 

Death is fair in it's equal inevitability.
  

But never is it fair in it's enactment.

 

It is why my fair lady's sacrifice is beautiful.

It is why my fair lady's descent into great darkness, sorrow self-assured, is such a thing to behold.

To tread toward an unfair verdict is a strength: to go forward into fire and torment to achieve one thing: Love.

 

 

I will probably die one of these days to something stupid, following these ends to a reckless crescendo, against their best wishes.

  

And antithetical to my very loving intent, everyone can hate me for it, I suppose.