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.