As I lay dying, I cling to this life,
Everything in it—
The pain and the strife,
The heartbreak, the sorrow—
Always knowing I can start over tomorrow.  

As I lay dying, I feel too much regret.
Frantic and panicked, what did I expect?
If I had moved to the right, but I went to the left.
As my life leaves me, I wade toward the shore,
But it’s no matter anymore;
The big sleep’s knocking at my door.

When a tree falls in the forest,

is it heard by the stone?

As it whispers to the grass,

one last and final groan.

Does the moss cradle it's dying branches,

While creeks and rivers stop their flow?

Or does it die as it lived?

still and silent, all alone.

Life is but a song of sorrows,
Days can feel like miserable melodies.
Our heartstrings plucked,
Chords that resonate with tragedy.  

The beating drum, a dark percussion,
Can serve as rhythm to the chorus of our love and joy.
That which is memorized by heart,
In every generation, the song is sung.  

In every life, a note is played—
Lows entwined with our highest moments,
Giving credence to suffering,
Unifying our spirits in a grand orchestra,  

Composing a symphony of our very soul.

Wandering, searching for the wind,
An empty vessel, lost and adrift.
Steering toward a forgotten destination,
To a place that deals only in absolutes;
Where rain and storm dare not cloud our path.  

When we wake from the slumber of darkest nights,
There is glory in the redemption of dawn,
Rising anew to embark on a sacred descent,
As it crescendos in majestic golden hues,
Hypnotic, dissolving into the horizon

I measured my madness,
Subtracted any sanity
Divided by calamity
And what was left, didn't add up.

haste the winds of change
Which blow with the sands of time.
Eroding the stone inscribed with the epitaph of humanity.

A narcissist would gaze upon
any large body of water
And tell you, they often take a larger ****.