Not everyone dies in a hospital bed.

The beauty of
The fragility
Of your morality
Is being able to
Admire the moss speckled rock face
With stray flora
Squeezing through the cracks
In between to
Kiss the sunlight
And the chaotic order of
Large, square boulders
Amongst their small
And rounder
Counterparts
When at any moment
It could give way
And crush you

It makes me wonder
Just how many
Of the protruding weeds
Were grown
In the fertilizer of
Those who
Admired the rock face
Like me