Death

We run to the fire. Paradoxically, we get burned and fall flat on our backs. But we get up before the flame runs out for in spite of the cavernous agony, oblivious in its infliction, there is still a light. There is a glimpse of courage in the eyes of a warrior. It is fixed in the everlasting. There are waves of clarity amidst the ocean of confusion. The shore awaits the flow and break. There are still wings of hope to a heavy and cluttered heart. The space of the crowded will end its days. In the loss of the meaningful, the fire we run into will become us. We will emerge as spaces.