How cruel death, in all its glory. The pitch black of the universes void, endless and deafening silent. What waits for us behind all those stars, at the end of time? Can life strive when no life is given, when no life is excused from the punishment of nature itself. The sunset so beautiful, just a blazing ball of fire waiting to consume every inch of the world we live in, the only world we will ever know. Death is beautiful, in all of creation, as in destruction one finds meaning of the meaningless. Bound by the fate of transcendent planes and universes, waiting for the release of what we don’t know exits yet, but has lived on for millennia. Too grand for us to comprehend, while small and insignificant, the insect stands its ground against the power of the man, for centuries. Yet what has it brought us but the endless suffering and pain that comes with glory and success, crumbling at the slightest instance of fear. The fear of not living, the fear of not being loved, the fear of not being remembered. What a shame it is to see into the depth of the ocean to see absolutely nothing, while being seen by everything. The staring eye of consciousness, the judge of all that is judging, harsh and unforgiving to the will of the weak. Yet all we can comprehend is not the feeling of ‘being’, but the feeling of not being. Walking aimlessly through the streets, by who doesn’t know from what the streets were made. Life is a circle, and death is eternity. The circle of life, an organism in its own, while death has no beginning nor end, no starting points no path to follow, no line no direction no means to grasp its fullness and nothingness at the same time. Perhaps this is what every human, every living thing strives to be, strives to do – find Glory in Death.