Born dying, the sunlight ascends to height,
Night, sees its descending,
The ending of flight,
The light of the sun,
Spawned ending, even as it has begun,
Clung-to moments are already on the run,
Spun leaving the second they come,
We are all of us leaving,
Cleaving, we are, everything, leaving.
Believing seconds are for sentience,
Sentiment settles on our decadence,
To lavish ourselves upon the hours,
Like a leaper lavishes themselves upon the rocks below,
Go, take every second by storm,
Born dying, but living and reborn,
Scorn shame and waste the same,
I came to spend them both alike,
Like the disappearance of the light.
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