Twilight Cinders

Though never will this be read by other human eyes, I write my life’s end here.

Only the cinders of men burned alive, lost in twilight, can convey the bleak and treacherous nature of our human ends. What cruelty! Every hope and every love become red-hot irons in the minds of the dying. No dream remains for them now but the final dream from which they must some day awake to live again the curse of man’s foolish joys.

My heart is gone. There is only now a dark and oozing heap taken from the deepest swamps and bogs. When they took away my wife, my child and my freedom, they took away my soul. They took away the part of being that so deludes a man as to make being itself appear palatable. I will die in this room. I will never know another spacious moment.