Birth first, then fear of the ever consuming darkness that follows. Embraced like a long lost friend. Put aside in the thoughts of men. For if it cannot be changed, what use to dwell upon it? A sadness tags along. We think we know what happens after it greets us, but none can be sure. And there is the reason melancholy lies with it. For what is it worth, that we should; struggle, overcome obstacles, triumph, have statues built in our image, or create lasting inspiration in the minds of men? In the end, it all comes to naught. A hollow victory, if ever one existed. To not know and never learn, until it is too late. What a waste of time. What a waste of breath. What a waste of everything til the death.