When one comes to the end of the frailty and disease that could be ones life. They must remove the torn and tired husk and continue on to the next rise. To walk among the shadows, hearing the voices of the dead, they call my name with each footstep. I grow tired of their worn and weary sound. I feel the great passage coming into my life and still things are not what they were. Life is not what it should. Love is what it takes. The path of the end begins with a sunrise, and ends when it sets. I see the dawn of a new day, I feel its glorious rays upon my skin. Pain and unjust as things that were wrong now will be written.
Once the dawn approaches my shoulders I will feel the skin upon my shoulder ash. When I fall upon the earth in a great and glorious storm of dust I will know it is over.