The Buisness of Breathing

There has to be a point to all this madness.
And if the point is the madness; that sparks and dies
And the spark is it
and the death is it
Then the moment is only good while it lasts
Because everything fades and is forgotten with time.

Scintilla

Peachy colored wall, peeling paint.
Red earthy gravel, stained white door frame.
An open doorway, an impartial darkness.

This is where things end.
This is where things begin.

Finite moment, infinite impression.