A life worth death

As we often see, beauty is far and few between.

Fleeting in movement we can only hope to grasp.

As if our entire life is nothing more than the turning of a page.

Artfully it slips through our gasp, as such the nature of beauty is.

Life, effervescent in display, windows passing by,

While we as people, ephemeral, flowers in a field,

And our one last spring, bearing the burn of light.

Leads us running through life as if we've never walked.

A final afterthought in the universes' folds,

Lingering, hesitant, timid and unsure,

Poking into disparate ideologies, and varying paths,

Finding ourselves in the last league,

Free from bondage, rusty chains, weighted souls and heavy minds,

Aetheric realities of a rose colored world, and the shades of grey in-between,

Without a regret, having lived a life worth death.