The Cliff

Death, that fatal cusp,
I did not know it until it touched me.
Until I felt its cold reminder of what was to come.

Like a cold breath across my body as I try to cover myself with a blanket too small.
Truth, that warm assurance,
gives way to sanscullotish fervor with which men upheave humanity.
'Vi Veri Veniversum Vivus Vici!' I cry.
But no, death wins yet; his perseverance eternal.

Or is it? Perhaps I am he "who chose death over denial," who did not fall from the cliff, but rather jumped into the abyss - daring to 'do all that may become a man' (for what is he but a means to the same end?). Freedom, that greatest virtue, holds all men captive in its embrace.

Is Death freedom? Surely not.
Life is freedom, our chance to enact upon the Stage some great movement of ourselves.
Death is but a gateway to the consequences of that movement.
Once dead, forever bound.

The Heart of a Ranger

You couldn't know me. Couldn't understand nor care long enough to listen to chronic remorse when life around you is so abundant and prolific. Your heart couldn't handle the juxtaposition and your mind wouldn't let you. I know this because I am a cynic, a man born to howl in agony over his own pain.

I lied. I wouldn't let you know me is closer to the truth. The warm hands of your affection make me shiver as I imagine the horrifying touch of your love. Don't do it, you'll break and burn me and it won't be alright. I am beyond you, go away. My excuses are the ravings of a man gone mad in a hopeless abyss.

My callused heart will not bleed for you. My shredded lungs will not breathe for you. Your most delicate caress will cause me to cry out - my liquid voice like sharpened glass, rending your soul. With self-righteous, perhaps even chivalrous honor, I will deflect you from that Liebestod.

I'm a man separated by my gregariousness. Life is an intersection of love and pain - that eternal paradox. God is not the end of the road (which would you choose?), he is the crux of it. Sitting on his throne, breathing life from the middle of that cross-way, he resolves the direction of the lost ants. I have walked through this intersection many times, always leaving it for the next path - wandering until I once again am shattered on rocks and fall back to the beginning. You also wait at this intersection. Love waits. I walk away time and again to avoid the pain - the love is no loss to my selfish heart. Until I can stand at the crossroads and ask for the way which is good, and then STOP! because I am already there, I will not be yours. I will not ravage your heart by acquiescing to your demands. Avoidance will be my weapon, my tool to deflect your blows until I am trained to riposte. The quest is long, it never really ends. Don't pretend. Don't wait. You won't know. I won't let you.