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Across poets minds struck with grief, so brief an ideal, as a fly would shrug and it would dissipate into farther things, out of reach to most minds untamed. But a thing to embrace lightly for a similar fate would befallen, a thing to fragile to touch, and still to fragile to let lone. And pasted onto those children?s minds, a story it is, the fragile thing, the resilient broken thing. Asked me they did.
?What does this story say??But answered I did so brief
?Maybe you will learn someday.?
A speech to talk then would emerge, from embers of a tuned and olden mind, would be like a sonnets grace of fair warnings, of advice for eternities ahead.
?Wait you will? say I, to the early kindled minds ?Until adventure finds you waiting, and sweeps you great and vast. Upon fallen foes, fallen friends, unknown fallen little ones, through tragedy through love, through nights blinding and starless. You will learn things parallel to this, so let my words stay your memory. From yours to mine, my words to your journey, and see will you then a lesson. You live not without regrets, without pitfalls and misguidance. From this comes memory after all is done. So when you lie dying, you see things beyond it, you lie in the darkness as light, and wallow in ecstasy, for you will have learned the riddle. And as life looses its grace, you will se something farer, something among a blinding white disk, an enigma of life, it is adventure, and a euphoric sense of a task done?
I sat down then to let the embers breathe in the fuel, the words spoken lightly and only once. ?That?s all there is at the end, is a task done, even if your journey takes you but five leagues from here. All it is, is that.?
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