Death. A single word that holds so much mystery among mankind. Death; the most unknown thing known to them. Death; the one that all mortals fear most. Death; the passing, the changing of a state from living to not. Death; the Grimm Reaper, scythe slicing down the last stalk of wheat.
Yet they say that energy and matter cannot be created nor destroyed, simply changed. Does the caterpillar die when it becomes a butterfly? Does a larva die when it becomes a beetle? Is it reborn or forever lost? Or, perhaps, it is simply changed. Transformation; metamorphosis; or, in my tongue, myliianyrae.
What if what we call ‘death’ is simply the transformation from a caterpillar into a butterfly? As the body crumbles and the mind is absent it returns to the earth that birthed it, that gave it life. As a phoenix does it arise from the ashes, reborn among flames into another stage?
Nothing is permanent. Everything will change. Language, life, culture, the world, the galaxy, the universe. The stars will supernova and with it will arise a new time. With the fall of Rome was the coming of a new age. When the Dark Ages finally passed came a period of gold. For better or for worse things will change as time passes.
Such is the way of the world. Such is the nature of time. Such is the nature of life and of death, of light and darkness, of new beginnings and of ends, of creation and of destruction.
The requiem of the dead as birds cry the funeral march. Leaves falling to the ground. The tears and comfort and reunion of a funeral. Brisk, cold wind that whistles through bare branches. The monotone voice of a man as he says words about the departed. The moon rising, silver light cutting through the darkness.
A single, white rose, its petals soft and pure as the hymn sung by its bearer. Infinite in its beauty yet its green thorns grow sharp. A new beginning, a remembrance- rebirth.