Final Breaths

A dying man discribes the holes he formed in life and warns to avoid his mistake.

            In the final moments of breath from this world, a man finds abnormality in the normal. He seeks any alibi to ease the discomfort of the inevitable. Naturally, pain transcends to humor and the scars are layered with a thick coating of laughter. You may see this as dark, but in reality, they shift their gaze beyond the idea of death and think upon how they died and the seemingly insignificant things that could have prevented it from ever occurring.

            In this untimely hour, I search endlessly for a spark of humor, but in disregard to how far my mental sight stretches, none is found. There are few things that are “funny” about life itself, yet we cling to it mercilessly. With this unusual inborn fondness of living, we spawn flaws and weaknesses. We are anything but fragile, but we are mended too firmly. This solidity and stubbornness rebelling against change makes us vulnerable. It makes us replaceable.

            I sit here pondering death when already dead. Comfort is replaced by irony. My very mind, the entity that provides happiness and a sense of safety is rendered to balance. Thrust evenly across the scales by pain and hate. The affect is that one is placed neutrally over a line between the hilt and the blade of a dagger. Either sacrifice yourself or do so to others. The option of life is a choice between give happiness or vainly receive it and, like all things, it can be easily manipulated.

            It is from this truth that we loose our freedom to take side with equality. We decide the minor things such as what to place in our mouths or what we cover our bodies in, but life’s true choices are given to the hands of greater men. Whether it is a god or even just an employer, they guide our fate. We pick our poison, but they choose our options. Perhaps this is how it is meant to be. We live between the lines of life, but we never truly see the words.

            My time is over. It’s far too late for me to realize that the only realities that ever come to fruition are those that we force to do so. Peace can’t be requested, it has to be dictated. It requires balance. It requires rebellion for freedom. While there is freedom, there will not be peace.

            Now I think I am beginning to see the humor. I never wonder over the answers until losing the ability to every wonder again looms too close. Heed the warning of a dead man. Make your own freedom where it lies. Control your fate. Leadership of yourself is a struggle that you can’t win, so you must avoid the opposition. Join me in free will, but not in death. Run away from life.