To bring another heartache,
another hurtful memory,
another long, long, long, suffering,
     another letdown, another strife,
     another death into my life.

Can I comprehend the endless pain
     that will devour the world
     as you walk with the wind
off this planet of stinging rain?

Will I falter at the sound of swans
     gargling fake pond water,
     eyes glazed, fixed on nothing,
beauty reshaped into gods of bronze?

This soul has seen the deepest black,
     heard the loudest roar,
felt the roughest wrack.

This soul has smelled the foulest stench,
     tasted the tartest food,
discerned the coming drench.

There must be a reason
     we still exist.
There must be a reason
     love still persists.

Am I ready to combat logic?
Rationality leads to states ironic.
     Death makes sense in life sublime:
     No one’s ready when it’s time.