As I pass on by,
I lean over to my strange new friend
to jest, “Good thing we're masochists.”
“Yeah,” he replies,
And I am the one laughing.
We burn all the way up until we are free to fall as ashes or snow along the ordained path before us. But,
instead of gently wafting, We are in a mad dive, voracious for the death below.
The change of life is bright and full and violent. and the sleet falls from my eyes. It is not the stinging of the wind.
It is not the beauty in the world,
Though the sublime
Brilliance of nature
And its ubiquity rings in my hot ears. It is a madness.
It is a beautiful, serene
Daydream.