” It’s Death that comforts us, alas! and makes us live; 
It is the goal of life; it is the only hope 
Which, like an elixir, makes us inebriate 
And gives us the courage to march until evening “  – Baudelaire

 Jack M. Messinger marched until the evening, his evening but the morning of major populations.

Few are the mortals who have the chance to die for a cause. Few and lucky those who write their names in the mind of our history.

“An Angel, in magnetic hands it holds
Sleep and the gift of sweet ecstatic dreams,
And makes a bed for poor and naked souls.” – Baudelaire

 

Each death is a story, a unique one.

But when the black horizon is crossed, Devine equality reigns.

 

They all marched until the evening, but D Day – Death Day put us all on the same level.

“It is God’s glory and the mystic grange” – Baudelaire

Every dead mortal is a story planted in the soil.

 

A story, a flower that may live…

“Who can assure me, these new flowers for which I toil
Will find in the disturbed and reconstructed soil
That mystic aliment on which alone they thrive?” – Baudelaire