The Way We Die

The Way We Die.

An eternal sphere of glass, brittle as minor; a horizon so far a bird would never reach. Sounds within no being ever saw, a slow line of grey that stripes the iron clouds. A sea so brown. A sea so white. A sea as soft as cotton, spilling out into a land of fire and the cries of bells. Embraces of a mountain's arms, tasting of wine and the vowel A as it pulls the curtain to the mystery of craving.

I am you as we extinct ourselves, taking with me your feel of love.