Stars, in their multitude

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." Psalm 23-4
The night is calm and the air is cool as he walks down the jagged streets. He feels none, sees none, senses none. Lost in the maze of his own mind his gaze wonders aimlessly, reciting to himself that last poem.
He convinces himself to no longer care for anything, an absurd attempt to counter what is inevitable: his own demise.
He is a fugitive to his own fate the slow ticking clock that is all that exists. It is said that time itself is nothing more than an abstract idea, it has no form or meaning other than which it is given.
Time is his, and he slows it down, down to a pace, down to a breath of cold night air.
Death and time, both meaningless now. In a few moments, he will die for it has been decided so.
It now is a certainty, a law of nature, something that cannot be changed for these laws cannot be broken.
How it must feel to know he will, in a moment's time, be nothing more than an inanimate body.
But it is neither fear no sadness that he feels, for he has found peace. He has forgiven others and himself. His journey will not have been in vain.
He is now on a bridge, and as he walks up to the very edge of it, he can hear it. The gentle sound of the river, a soothing sound.
His time has come, it must be done.
He gazes up to the sky, a clear summer's sky and allows himself this last thought:
" Scarce to be counted,
Filling the darkness,
with Order and Light,
you are the sentinels,
Keeping watch in the night:
Stars... In your multitude."