A different way.

Flighing downwards or traveling to the place you came of from everything could make sense one    12 3 456 6 78 9 10 1212 1                                                                                                                                                            day.

Floating neither up or down but north and south and east and west follows a river that takes that who sails it into discord and nonsense, a complete different growth among never ending worries that can not be avoided or abolished but have to be taken by those carriers of sudden or not so sudden losses dressed in robes that carry discrace of no one else but themselves following this brook by choice and not by debt or contract, flowing in a different way than other beings, used by the cosmos as pawns on a chess board or being the kings and queens of inexistance; happy while sad and desponent, lucky or luckless as well as inauspicious and desperate we are. 

Or are we?