Longing for more.

I march forward toward my destiny, be what may, death and glory, waste and reckless abandonment.

What is the difference I ask you except quantity of time as though that was any measure of quality.

Could not a long life be a miserable one?

A life time they say, a family and a place. This is a good I’ve no doubt,
But is not life a collection of moments,
In their unity we find their sum,
Thus could not the quality of a moment be the sum of a good life? 
To live on the edge of death, what else could compete when it is our demise that gives every second meaning. 
Pity not the fallen hero, pity he that places meaning to that which hath none,

Lessons learned by one are but mutterings for another

Honour the man that embraces our tragic comedy as a knowing brother. 

Forgive me for I do not mean to preach the void, for I hope for so much more.