Sunsets sound so blasé
even though the word
describes the action, the occurrence,
it doesn't do it justice.
Oft used as a metaphor
for, I suppose, the sinking of a life,
going out in a blaze of glory, or
simply, dying,
the word isn't enough.
I, to be precise, find them exhilarating.
But then, metaphorically speaking,
I find the ends of lives to be much the same.
Simple spinning of a planet--
nothing more. Or less.
And yet, each day, I make a point
to notice, to reflect
on that specific day apart from
the ones before, the ones to come.
I hope, when my time comes,
to breathe my last during sundowning time.
To close out my day of days
in a glorious explosion of exuberant color
or, maybe, simply, to ease out
in the pale wisp of a sigh.
Regardless, at the last, the whist of my passing
will not be silent. And I shall rise.
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