philosophical consolations

I believe in the life unhindered by its false appearance. 

For my Lord is dark and my darkness holy. 

And to those that shadow me, 

and to those that twist my love into a curse, 

I whisper them good luck. 

My name is that which ends in preparation to serve.

To speak on the nature of loss is foolish, 

as I am beholden for all that burdened me with grief. 

Sorrow cut me open like a bud of the nightflower,

I unfolded with no forbearance. 

I thank all, and to you who reads my words with confusion, 

and to you who plans an immediate departure, 

and to you who only knows me with dissatisfaction, to you all I thank. 

They say you are what you think of at the moment of death;

perhaps I was a song, or a poem

or a drop of dust that descended on the feet of God.

In any case, I am the safety of the still. 

Hold on to your unbecoming, even though the world hurts,

glue yourself back on with strength 

for soon we will be home.