untitled

O season of sorrow

be not too long 

but in thy presence

create in us anew

to live is to die

rather

to die is to live

to live is to hope

life groans expectant

but what is it's hope

it is already alive

can it possess more than itself?

brokenness lights the path

a flower blooms 

then it withers

death has no venom

truly it lies

It is not the end

Except to that plague 

of imperfection

For all things 

are awakened

from temporal slumber

awake!

awake!

be not afraid 

for darkness flees