I recall the eves of my life
Not of winter, summer, autumn, or spring
It was part of my life, about to end
Not in perfect daylight, nor the darkness
Just somewhere between, quite and vacant
Empty and meaningless, as for the unthoughtful

All the mortals have a thought to set down like a sun
All the souls have a thought to meetup in heaven
All the bodies have an expression to extinct
Are all the lights supposed to dim and then fade away by the surface?
Who thought that this surface would be the demise...