Prose from a Rose

🌹Finish Line

#prose.from.a.rose. -TWO:

I'm drinking ice in this cold, dark place.
Even inside, is the air chilly.
The sun, outside, is most deceptive,
just minimise the severity of my imminent death and I shall be fine.

It is reckless to live in the moment as obstacles come your way,
the only way is ahead so no one is safe.
And as time grows older with us, we shall soon see
the demise of all that we know before we descend.

I wonder if the coffins will be colder or warmer.
Is it comfy down there?
I shall soon come to know.

Winter's ending is prolonged, bitter and cold.
But I already see the comet heading our way, so I shall prepare in the best way I possibly can, if I am to survive what is to come in a few months' time.

I am just another number amongst many, so it will mean nothing to thennn when it happens.
But to me, it shall mean the world.

Who knows? I might not even make it that far. I could die before then. I could die tomorrow, I could die today, I could even die in this very moment.

But...head or heart? What do I value, do I value the moment or the future so that I am prepared for it? What - a future that may never come?

Head.
Because the chances of my actually dying is slim to none. I will most likely be fine.
Death can't save me from this one. Only I, myself can.
I shall soon see.
Will I be my ally and friend, or my impulsive enemy?
You know what they say. God won't tell. But time will. Time will tell. And it shall.

All that's left to do is watch as it ticks by, and as my actions unfold and play out.
Tests within tests within tests.
At least i know that I will pass the biggest test of all, of righteousness.
Or perhaps I won't.

We all run by the axis of seconds that run into minutes that slide into hours that glide into days that blur into weeks that smudge into years that blend into decades that make up our mortal time spans.

Well, dirt, soil, my rusty old friend. Friend of the worms beneath. Sheltered in darkness from the loud booms of our human voices, our man made cities, our aircrafts that are silent seldom, and of our petty, pointless wars.
I shall come to you soon, back into Death's hand, and if I am good, i shall sleep soundly.

I say that I am coming to my sister soon, but is that certain?
What I'm really coming for is you; dirt, soil, muck, shade, darkness and silence.

We are all coming, Dirt.
Equals in death. And I shall be just another rotting corpse under the burning rays of the sun, taking my unnoticeable, dismissible place amongst mankind.

Soon to be rotten.
Soon to be forgotten.

What else is there to state if not to state facts? An opinion maybe.
Why, an opinion? I'm not sure I have many of those, but I will dig within my pockets and see.
Oh! I do not mind as much as I should. There. Believe that, I mean it and it is true.

I have to return to my earthly affairs that have no, intrinsic or true meaning.
Even something as repulsive as nature calls.

Well. I appear to be at the end of my letter to you. Ha. Aren't you glad I noticed you? Most people just walk all over you and not pay you any mind nor thoughts!
Oh, wait, I forgot.

You're without a soul. You can't feel nor think. I wonder if you're alive, though. Breathing at least. Or are you the mere belly of the Earth, a fine and thick coating that runs deep like the skin that covers the bloodstreams of a human being.

Well. You can't know that I am coming, but I do. We do. We are coming, all of us. As you can imagine, we each feel differently about it.
But what can we do but spew words? - Nothing. Nothing but let it happen and go with the flow of life. We're powerless. - A bit like you, really.
You're powerless dirt.
All you are is a growing blanket waiting to be filled entirely.
Be grateful that you are being used while we'll be grateful that you aren't being used entirely.
Even when they suck, our lives are to be cherished, you see.

Oh, the helicopter is loud today.
Well. I must be on my way like the pilot above me is.
You know what the racers say. - "See you at the finish line."

∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎
ద     ద 𖦊 ꪉ 𐀔 𐃸 ద   𖦊  ʊ
༒    ༒ ༒ ༒  .   .      ༒ .   . ༒
༒ ༒ ᜊ ༒              ༒       ༒
༒ ༒  ༒
༒ ༒  ༒ . . ༒
༒ ༒  ༒ . . ༒
ద                  ༒
༒ . ༒
༒ . . ᰔ
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