It’s not that time
In its infinite wisdom
Healed anything or all that was crashing between my ears
No
It’s more that I chose
To wash away the sands of scent and memory
And to let you go
Adios

You are not just the hero within the pages of your own story. You are the vessel of intuition. The growing understanding of self-undiscovered, be it in the conscious or unconscious arena. Competing with all under the sun. You live not to forget or yourself become the great shining deeds by which you may never achieve relics. But to bear witness to the self and its finite attempts to grow steadily alongside the tree of life. And in standing therein, rooted, smile at your own death. Knowing a more practical end awaits you moving.

Fear is not more costly than loss
And in finding that we cannot fly
Half so well as we like to think about
Let alone try
It is the grounded meaning and by which
That we learn of the proportioned sky above

My strength is like a weathered tree
Though shanken on the surface blown
And thrown about in raptures occasionally
Your summer storm will not shake me
Or in my roots well known, feel anything