I wonder when I'll die? I could be dying all along. I could be floating to
death like a feather departed from its maker. It does not die until it has hit
the ground. I was living until my innocence left me. What happens when the
amount of time spent living is exceeded by the years spent dying? Is that when
I will expire? Or, is someone sent to save me? I have been waiting for some
time now, and I'm hard pressed to believe they are coming indeed. I've only a
few years remaining before my time overlaps. If I continue breathing, it would
surely be dying inhaled, and death exhaled.

Maybe we are all feathers? Some have lived beautiful on swans, but dying is a
short trip to drowning death. Some are on the wings of eagles, soaring
sorrowfully their inevitable extinction, and grand idolization. Their feathers
fall a beautiful back and forth, and are sometimes prolonged with gusts of wind
and life. Some are trapped on flightless birds. How sad a the life of
a feather that never soars in the sky... their dying is short, and death comes
beneath the feet of predators.

They (we) all eventually sink, and only memories of their (our) fantastic falls remain.

As a feather floats upon the wind
and fancies itself endless,
I soar with her flight.
She romances the evening sun
and pleads for another day of life.
I relish in her fight.