There is nothing to save,
Nothing to taste,
There is nothing to risk,
So there's nothing to brave,
If there is, it's a waste,
All achievements shall blink when we cease to exist.
Insignificant life,
Insignificant faith,
Those pathetic ideals.
Finally to end this strife
And purge thyself I hate,
From the edge I'll respond to the abyss appeal.
Oblivion hatches itself to me.
Sublime morbid immensity.
An hurricane of souls in doom.
Hemorrhagic death in bloom.
In this nocturnal sky
Innumerable corpses
Dance like autumnal leaves.
Funeral lament magnified
By necrotic voices,
A chorus from this mosaïc of death motives.
Those passed away lowering their moan,
Stopping their motion
And turning to me.
I'm standing on my own,
Core of their dominion,
Somehow feeling the guilt in face of their envy.
Hides in their empty eye-sockets
All the burden of their regrets.
My vain bravery against life sink.
I think...
Every birth is a semen
Within the opaque uterine coffin.
Every death is another seed
From which the oblivious garden will feed.
Value that seems volatile,
Or just another naïve comforting lie,
Unveil it's true relief
While facing at the diffuse light of death.
I hold on to the flesh,
'Cause it is who I am.
I drink now at their breast
The nectar of existence.
Never will I again
Dare doubting of this chance.
In front of them I stand
In paradoxical trance.