Death

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Abstract

ave. The crest and the final spring of soul’s journey into the stars and the stones. No, it’s not a pale poem or a coldly thing but a redolent perfume perfected by the the flowering of finished fates. The captain did not leave for a final dignity or damnation to stay with phantoms but just took a tiny r

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epose in the synchronous unity, to again give ear to the primordial songs of silence and the melodies of the multitude. it’s not martyrdom not a flight into oblivion just a post carted by the continental and the maritime air masses to the infinite. A small pause in the comet’s cruise.</p></article></body>

It’s not the end, for sure

Photo:Author

Death is the crescendo and the zenith of life’s wave. The crest and the final spring of soul’s journey into the stars and the stones. No, it’s not a pale poem or a coldly thing but a redolent perfume perfected by the the flowering of finished fates. The captain did not leave for a final dignity or damnation to stay with phantoms but just took a tiny repose in the synchronous unity, to again give ear to the primordial songs of silence and the melodies of the multitude. it’s not martyrdom not a flight into oblivion just a post carted by the continental and the maritime air masses to the infinite. A small pause in the comet’s cruise.