and if i do not, what a pity.
for so much pain to continue to live.
death, be not proud.
for some have called thee
mighty and dreadful,
for thou art not so.
for those whomst thou thinks thou dost overthrow
die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
i live for poetry,
irony.
knowing that you cannot turn to your mother in a time of grief
is a difficult burden.
for lust, lies, gossip,
are but daily avails.
death, does though mean these crimes are my sins?
despite my blessings?
how dost thou win.
hope, beautiful hope,
does not prevail.
and death ends all.
yet death brings all.
compassion, rebirth
Veritas 