Stains of Bleeding Mould

The everyday sight of my beautiful wife and wonderful children torments me; the thought of any more suffering besides their frail existence, drains all my attempts to sanity as I can't dissociate myself from our finiteness.
We have become so eager to squeeze as much as possible out of our shamefully short conscientiousness, that we have completely disregarded its utter uselessness.
I do apologise for my incapacity to eat my daily circus' bread for the sake of entertaining myself into this, oblivion's waiting chamber called lifetime.
I do apologise for my complete unwillingness to consider only the beginnings, turning a blind heart's eyes to what shouldn't follow, the end.
I do not want to understand death; I do not want to accept death as "naturally" associated with life, as much as I don't want to accept evil as anywhere related to beauty and goodness. Please allow me the right of denying myself the allowance of stupidity; allow me to conclude that life in all its unfathomable beauty, is nothing else but utter emptiness, perpetually filled with more and more new, innocent lives, bound to gloriously live up to the vain task bestowed upon them by careless lovers. "Beautiful (soap) bubbles we are; endlessly rejoicing in one another's myriad of colours,
just to fade into a last ghostly flicker as we silently burst,
leaving behind,
only the short,
tear-touch of an ephemeral presence."