The Day is Night

Then take your suicide! Do it else the light of the day and swarm of the angels should come down, and holy fire will sanctify your life with light!

But then, you do not dare I see, you dare not take the last remains of your cowardliness and complaining to the ends of its meaning: then it is clear to me that you lack conviction even in your own words!

You wriggle about and mock life for its unfailing nature and hardiness, all the while still clinging, still holding onto the glimmer of light that douses your dreams at night with illusions of reckoning!

But to which side do you hold to then? For it cannot be that life is hard yet also holds reckoning? Is it in your own mind again that you have separated what cannot be separated?

Then you see, it is your lot to uphold both, and in each take its due course while in wait for the next bout of the cycle. So cast aside your longing eyes! Because in the dark you’ll wish for sunlight, and in the sunlight wish for dark! But why not laugh when the sun is gone, and rejoice when the hour has come, and the night has faded and the day has faded, and all that’s left is what you’ve become.


If you took each man and women, and lined them up next to their graves
And asked them then, what would they say?

Well, for most they’ll probably take to denying and crying
Saying why have you brought me here, and when can we leave?

And you’ll see for most then, they’ll take to escaping
And denying to answer, anything of value.

Still others will look at their grave
And take to looking at it in dismay

They’ll take to thinking
But never enough to find an answer

So they too will eventually falter
and return to their ways.

Some men perhaps will take to crying
And to these I think, there’s more Truth left than not

For perhaps they see something that is worth crying
Or else they’ve thought just now, that time is what’s dying.

But we are mortal, weak humans whom roam this Earth
And we cannot bear to stand when we’d rather be hurt

Stagnant to the last, painful to every grasp
But still we will not move, else we start causing our own pain.

But what is pain to a man who is already dead?
And what is grief to a man who’s laid to rest?

Ample time has been allotted to each and every one.
And to figure out a way to spend is required of all living beings.

So stare at your grave to contemplate madness
But then look at your present and think not of what’s after

Just take the feeling that comes from the grave
And pour your heart into doing what’s opposite of that place.

Then maybe some men and women will have nothing to say
But will simply turn, and start walking away.

For Those Who Believe in Fate

If I had more time, I would spit on your shoes! And how you would weep and speak as if this were your truth.

–“How I’ve been disrespected! How my life has spiraled to nothing! Pity oh pity! Why does this man spit on my shoes? It is that I am rotten and therefore I shall have deserved this –but then why? Why do I deserve this heavens above!

I wake and feel sorrow.
I taste food and see maggots.
Everything I touch spoils, but only because Everything is already spoiled.

There is no changing! And so I weep. But would I end my own life –but even this I have no choice. The hand of fate has dealt –and where I receive two aces, I see only ones.

Spoil with me lover! This wretched world of mine –for punishment is all I have a taste for –and I would never see anything as truly mine.’

And to these wretched ones I say!
That I am more wretched still! Look at how I place, all the blame upon you!
No, but that can’t be right. For I have projected my want –that nothing should stay the same.

Stand still –you never are capable of grasping life, for life to you lives in rotten graves. And is it not this grave you walk over and tend to each day? But then can’t you see, that it is your sorrow that you tend to too?

Does a beggar not long for food?
Then why do you –not long for good air?
For can’t you see –that life is dead?
So why not go tend –to something alive?
What do you wish –to resurrect the dead?

But then I see your play! –You wish to resurrect yourself.
In tending to death –you seek to overcome yours!
You selfish sorrow! You pitiless pity! You would seek to drag –everyone to the grave you tend, that is your own!
You wish to stuff them there too –if only they would come closer.
But no one cares for your grave, so you wait to fall in it.

And when that day comes –I will laugh and weep too!
That you ultimately found that which you adored:
the surest fate, the most absolute, that we will all die –and your grave you tend for yourself first.

This I find a careless mistake. But tell me, would you believe in fate too?