Breath deep, exhale, your lungs are in the cold sky. The beautiful white shimmers in the full moons light. The weight make you feel the need, the weight makes you feel important, it makes you feel as though you may have something to offer. It makes you feel the strain on your legs and the coming defeat. Yet you push as your muscles scream, telling you that you can't and must not go on. Looking down on the earth and up at the sky you realize to leave life go and take it as things come, pushing through like the piker commanded to march on through the muck and the grit. You are the first line and nothing will pass.
As always I remain,
The Destroyer of Worlds
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