A breath of air, fleeting,
slipping through lungs like a whispered secret.
A swallow of water,
sustaining, yet still as a stagnant pool.
A kiss of a lover on trembling lips,
warmth fading where passion once burned.

Death is the pause, the unstrung lyre,
the moment when motion surrenders to silence,
where the heart’s rhythm forgets its dance,
and the soul’s fire dims to ash.

What Sets Life Apart from Death?
Nothing but will—
a spark defiant in the endless dark,
a pulse that wrestles with the void.
The stubborn root that splits the stone,
the dream that dares to wake again.

Life is the surge, the restless tide,
the hunger to reach beyond the known,
to weave breath, water, love into time,
to carve meaning from the fleeting now.