Dying to Live

When all the color of the world begins to fade,
when they run and fade like watercolors,
the canvas is wiped clean again.
The pigments combine and swirl into grey.
At the end of the day,
death comes.
The sun hides behind the hills.
Warmth escapes until another day.
It ends the same for us all.
The means, the circumstances vary from one to another,
but fate comes.
Fate doesn't discriminate.
It reaches out and grabs us all.
We try to run.
We try to go back.
We want to be younger.
We want to be more attractive.
But youth is unattainable.
From birth,
the process of dying begins.
For some the process is much shorter than others.
With age,
wrinkles crack our skin and creep across our faces.
They wither our vibrancy and strangle our pallor.
They dry our humor and steal our will and strength.
It's unavoidable.
The sun sets.
Death comes.
And new life will spring up to replace what was lost.
But for you and I,
we have no choice but to march forward into the flames.
We must accept the death which lies before us.
Today,
tomorrow,
or somewhere down the road,
it will stare us face to face.
It will grab us
and bring us to our knees.
It will wrap its icy fingers around our necks
and strangle the life from our bodies.
Be sure.
Death will come.