The End Product

Is it aged in the cellars beneath the hills of Bordeaux or intricately hand crafted from a mind with an unparalleled zeal for perfection, what’s your end product? Is it the laughter of children that somehow caresses your heart upon each beat or is it the ultimate sacrifice of self? Choose your end product wisely, be casted by a spell of your doing but let it not be filled with loathing or envy but the willing choice of virtue. I lay not suspended within these metropolitan towers with no prize within heart or soul but rather ascending day by day giving now and forever for I know my end is near, my end is robust and true.  I implore that to you be just with your end product, for many have seen the second childhood in regret and shame.  Both are inevitable deep wounds that we must all tend, but allow the wounds to be battle scars of pride and wisdom. Be not worried of the tools needed or the ingredients missing, for ingenuity is granted to all and attainable as easy as the morning air.

The lights, a myriad of beautiful women and the enticing, amplified urban lifestyle are only side street stalls on a narrowing road. Vendors beckon and beg for my slightest attention. Unwavered by the cacophony of chatter and blearing horns Yonge Street rests in the comfort of my bosom.   I know my end and the clarity towards the path is calming. The calm is familiar; it last entered my mind five years ago when I witnessed a part of me come to life and took his own right of passage in this world.

The end you say, I say the beginning for then and only then that I, you, and we are able to move deeper into the ravages of the world’s being.

I die for the end.