I would like to die as the leaves do.
I don't want to accept my end and disappear into oblivion like a snowflake on a stranger's fingertip. That's too easy.
I want to fight. I want the phases of my life to MEAN something.
I want people to look at me and think;
"Change is coming."
When I finally go, I want the whole world to know.
I want to die in a blaze of glory, in a flurry of violent, vibrant, protesting colors.
Then, when it's all done and over with, I want to be secure in the knowledge that I took it all down with me.
It's interesting how we romanticize the rot. Do we appreciate the defiance or simply the beauty in death?
I think it's death, and I want the kind of death people find breathtaking. The kind they have to stop in the street to take a photo of, the kind you only ever find on a rare autumn morning when the skies have aligned just right.
I want to lay the world bare and leave her open to something new and different.
All the great ones died with the leaves, with the change of the seasons, and the harsh breath of a fall wind.
If death is the only outcome, and the more I fight, the harder I die.
Then I am going to crash down in a BLAZE of oranges, reds, and yellows. I will be the beautiful and violent corpse at the bottom of the oak.
The leaves and I will die as one.
YOU ARE READING
Evolution Of Everything
PoesíaA collection of poems, spoken word, and verbal processing. It's mostly here as a reminder for me of where I was and where I am, so that I never forget. Some of them are silly and fun, but most of them are deeply personal accounts of some of my harde...
