Mors finis est vita, sed est proximum principium
Mors finis est vita, sed est proximum principium reminiscence stories
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fallenshadow
fallenshadow 17| Poet in heart, puppet in life.
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
Hope y'all can Google translate.

Mors finis est vita, sed est proximum principium

Death is not the end of life but the beginning of the next. For all those who don't speak Latin. Or read it. I decided to write from the heart today just to release my emotions.

And I thought it fitting to dedicate this writing to the issue one of the greatest men ever who passed away spoke much of.

Stan Lee.

Father and co creator of the modern comic book Idea and almost all of the Marvel superheroes. He commonly would state, "Time, I wish I had more time."

He was not saying he didn't have time, but that there was so much more that one could do and a single lifetime was never going to be enough to achieve it.

He coined his sign off that was supposed to be his into a motto for his life, and I hope others will do the same.

"Excelsior", meaning ever upwards was his motto after a few years. The man only aimed higher. I hope those reading will try to as well.

Now though, to confront the issue that many men have been lost to. Mortality. Living for so little time. But, I believe the title made a point here. Mortality limits us, but sets us free.

The end of one thing is the beginning of the next.

So, I bid you no more adieu, a poem.

A cracked hand strays shakingly to the mirror at a bedside,

Recounting the memories in the wrinkled reflection of easier times and carnival rides,

A wheezing cough replays endlessly in the elder's mind,

Remembering a time when he ran giggling merrily after his friends he had to find,

They ran through the woods then, darting amongst the trees,

The elder gazes down, no more running with these knees.

A mortal man looks at the cracked and wrinkled reflection frowning back,

The ring on his finger hits the mirror with a clack,

A promise kept years after one half had gone,

This elder smiles sadly, but he still moved along.

He loved no other like her and in his mind her image did he hone

Her memory was by his claim, so very his alone,

But that cracked and wrinkled skin cries out for larger chunks of time,

For going now to other places to make moments to refine.

He lived a life of memoirs, but didn't leave impressions,

And now at heaven's gate: here's concessions,

It's the gatekeeper's dimple

but the book here is simple,

It's got no cover nor end,

It's something you read to have your senses all bend,

Make impressions, others will change your fate,

Because although we run out of time at this rate,

He will not suffer, For the future is that way, but Mors finis est vita, sed est proximum principium, my friend, for you end to begin when you begin to end.

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