If we walk unguided,
And not remember were we have tread,
To not look back,
And to not fear the oncoming,
To not know where we are,
Is this fate,
Where we lay when our feet become weary.

In love,
Is there hope,
Or is it just failed religion,
Is love just a fleeting moment with pass,
Never meant to continue after which,
To strive for some fate maybe,
Or strive because of the spirit.

In what accord do we stop,
Stillness is pleasure,
Is it not?
Or do we need to find pain,
To achieve pleasure,
Or maybe even movement,
In stillness.

But if we move we are just fleeing,
It is just a way of feeling,
And feeling is not happiness,
Just movement,
And so what difference is there between death and fleeing?
The stillness of it,
So why not should we pull this trigger.

Sickness and sorrow,
Pain is evident,
But pain is a feeling,
So should we not feel grateful,
That with every feeling it is just pain,
Even an angel brushing against us,
Still pushes on the skin as gentle as it may be.

Where do we go now,
For the world is empty,
In fullness,
Lost hope,
And no need for fate,
For fate is not blind,
It is viewable.