There was a man who lived a life of fire.
Even upon the fabric of time,
Where purple becomes orange
And orange purple,
This life glowed,
A dire red stain, indelible;
Yet when he was dead,
He saw that he had not lived.
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Just guessing but I suppose it suggests that maybe what we consider important and fulfillment maybe isn't in retrospect. Maybe that we need to take time to appreciate the simplicities of life. That sounds too easy doesn't it. It must mean something else.
If that is it, then it's ironic that it sort of mirrored his own life and death. -
curious. what does it mean?
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