Journey from life to death

Its a whisper in the wind, i hear it, quietly awaiting, desperately
satiated by a drive a will to go on, I feel it, on the back of my neck
in the chill of my heart, awoken, desperately desiring. Yearning, the
trees will bend to its will, arisen, it calls to me, watches from the
darkness, glides through the moonrays. The stars are its shadows, its
past, where it once was long ago like doorways. Spoken words will draw
it out, feed it nourish it like fruit on a mothers windowsill, basking
in the sunlight warm to the touch but not from within just for an
instant, like a memory, broken, unchained from reality, like a feeling
or perception, from the observer, a point of view, that i have so that
i can believe it, i am what makes it, i, or you, or him over there
who's standing watching waiting, for the illusion to be broken, like
glass, or water clear to the reflection, look at, or beneath, or
through, its your choice, its what you choose, like destiny, which is
also ordained, to a point, but who is this god and why did he choose
me? Because i feel it, because i want it or believe it, or want to
believe it, or because i dont. Like a tree that stands forever until it
falls, abandoned like a child without a mother, who watches and waits
for her arrival, at the window, throught the glass. This is my
illusion, this is my creation, my life, my desire, and i feel it, i
feel it breathing, cold against my skin, just within my reach. This is
my perception, like a string attached, pluck it, rythm, song, it sings
to me of those stars, i close my eyes to listen and its gone