We all burn out.

Eventually.

We burn bright.

We are transcendent.

Drivin by golden flames of passion.

Flames that hungrily lick the soles of our feet,

Warming us from the inside out.

We burn bright.

We are magnificent.

A sight to behold.

Potential to be ignited.

But.

We will run out of fuel.

Eventually.

All beautiful things come to an end.

Everything runs it’s course.

Eventually.

Eventually you will be nothing.

The roaring flame becomes a weak wheezing flicker.

Oxygen chokes it.

Life is suffocating.

The flames cannot escape.

Much as they try.

They shrink.

They diminish.

They hide.

The glow fades.

Leaving a weak and flickering ember.

But, they are always caught.

There is no hiding from something that is always there.

Oppressive in its presence.

The flames are found.

Reduced to nothing.

Dying cinders of silver ash.

All beautiful things die.