In the quiet hours before death.

all men must come to terms with their lives.

all the parts, and all the seasons.

they must observe it, regret it, and be proud of it.

depending on who you are,

and how lucky you were.

My seasons go something like the earths.

They bounce about, shifting like sands in a shaking jar.

cyclical in nature, but they evolve in time.

I am labile to go from clinical depression

to radiant joy in the span of one day.

But depression is where my heart feels most comfortable.

I do believe i will look back and regret it.

but there isn't much i can do to stop it.

When i see the slew of wasted life before me,

i feel nothing but an overwhelming dispair.

all those people, wasted for nothing.

and me with them.

In the quiet hours of life

all men must come to terms with the chaos.

accept it.

Do it before you die.

maybe then your death will just be the end

of all the suffering.

its astounding how many people will try to tell you its ok,

then turn around and worry about this or that.

Don't be like them.

They mean well,

but they are afraid somebody else will come to find freedom

away from the lies, so they try to make the lies more comfortable.

they do not have joy.

because there is not much joy to be had.

but you should enjoy what you can.

there are few things that are enjoyable.

So look for them.

Survive the chaos by just rolling with it.

that is the only peace a human can obtain.

at least by themselves.