He's in a cabin in the wilderness all snowed in.
Firewood is exhausted. The icy wind outside is cutting through the cracks in the logs. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of starving wolves is getting louder. The sun is setting and windows are frosting over blanking out the whiteness drowning its afterglow.
"This is the happy place to die. Come join me while you can. It won't be easy. But it's a righteous death."
You sit in your warm home in the city sipping wine. You got out in time, before winter's bitter lesson arrived to humble the arrogant and silence the voices of fools.
How do you answer him in his sad delusion; in his coffin of rainbows and sad smiles?
His eyes are wide open in blindness. His ears are slammed shut to the music of lost freedom.
He'd never listen to you reply.
"I've only just begun to live a life worth living. Why would I rejoin you in a death not worth dying?"
Will you tell him?
Or is the only truth he can bear the fragile poetry of doom his prayers recite for all mankind?
Let him go. Let him go. Only a brighter morning awaits you in the dawn.
For him, there awaits the darkest of darknesses. . .