Human life is fragile, fleet and disappears within years. How quickly do we lose the rosy hue in our cheeks when we die, when we rot away inside our bodies and finally our soul gives up struggling for the essence of survival, the means of living in this world? But is this our world? Do we have the right to live in this world, in this plane of existence?
I don’t think so.
We are shadows, mere shadows dodging the footsteps of the fleeting ghost of existence. We are mere illusions, torn between reality and fiction. We are not alive.
We do not live in this world, nor do we belong but only do the creatures who we belittle are truly the last snowflakes of winter. We are the storm that rides and rages over this planet and once we have led destruction to the very end, we move on. Like storms, we move on to another planet, destroying, ripping apart and we shield the truth from our younger generation’s eyes by feeding them illusions and we create fantasies for them to live and thrive in, happy and not caring about the wretch we call human life. The very essence of life does not lie within us, being the bastards we are. All we can do is dodge life’s footsteps, like mere shadows.
And like mere shadows, we fade away, screaming and fighting to stay there but the light always finds a way to kill us off.