Death watched over,
A shroud was laid.
Peace. Peace. Peace.
Everything lay still,
As the light less hours dwindled.
A spark.
It was a new dawn.
The past was locked safe,
The day stared ahead.
A rebirth,
A new life,
The sense of coming alive.
The trifles of worth,
The sanctity of solitude-
Innate and effusive,
The point equilibrium,
The knowledge of one.
For the beauty of illusions,
Lies in appreciation.
And that which eludes,
Shall do so, unless
We acknowledge it-
Singular and definite.
Grandeur lies in proportion,
Sense lies in the mind,
Life lies in the unknown divine.
That which is, shall be.
Knowledge cannot decimate
Nor can it in itself create.
The strands of being hang
From the perception.
And when we can feel
What we hold,
Do we dare be bold?
And what can hate do,
But change our own fate?
What can a God do,
But destroy and create.
All that is, is alive to the senses.
What is it to the being,
That there is a need to show feeling?
The darkness that prevails,
The walls and the veils,
The fear of facing fate,
That unknown anger and hate.
In this still,
Do you have the will,
To parley with the devil?
Nothing matters.
Expect that which does.
What is that?
Who chooses?
What do you choose?
Why do we choose?
The Light Shines The Brightest
