the potential made aware, awoke the choice
to attack or withdraw, to engage or enrage
not by half measures but in its entirety
submerged in a churning sea of action and contest

how fortunate to know this race against time
to choose to love knowing the day,
the second when it will be torn apart
conscious, lucid and aware of the end

not to back away from, step down
to hang on, hold ground until the near-fatal impact
(is it masochism or madness to begin
knowing the inevitable helpless pain of loss?)

the emptiness of indifference insulating
from further forays, from jumping again
in front of the train – or is this brilliance,
pure in its wonder as in its agony, a life well-lived?