I fall.
And as I fall I see behind, the miles I have yet to fall,
Just as I can expect the fall to start sometime in the near
future.
I think this fall will never end or maybe it won't start?
Is this fall endless like time or is it simply infinite?
All those are question, of which I have been thinking much,
Yet all I know now is but this - that if there is a
distance,
Between the falling, and the standing,
Than I've already crossed this bridge.
I now can only judge from here what is it that I've missed,
And I do that by seeing what I could have hit before.
But soon this fall, to it's own bottom finally must drop,
And I with it must life relive on earth,
But this expected time I talk about, shall not come by it's
own,
I must before prepare myself - to fight the dread of death,
For it is dread that makes the truth
As love creates the fantasy of death.