The dead who crave not life, I know not why they lie there

floating. They lie devoid of thought, bereft of life and drown in sorrow.



Sometimes they scream as life is deprived of them. Life is no

dream and death holds no final end. We all must die.



Hacking away with the sword at the earth, at the mounds of soil,

I try to recover the dead but get naught for my toil. The corpses

lie around me in various states of decay and no matter how hard I

try I can't bring life to their day. Even by touch of the sword they

refuse to awaken. And I know they seek life not. And I know

they like to rot forever. Even their lives were of no worth if in

their eyes they hate the truth even if it sets them free. Now is not

the time to revive. My mind revolts at this revelation. How can it

be that they lie calmly in their graves, resisting life as it pulls at

their heart strings; their cold eyes ever rejecting the truth?



I run with naught in mind but to leave that hateful place behind. I

enter darkened earth where De-syr has waited for me from the

day of my birth. I cross the bridge of grace along a well worn

path to satiate my flesh within the one they call De-syr.



Sorrow, my contemplating. Loving hours passed, I spent my life

anticipating sorrow. Thy cold embracing felt like love back then

but now I know that I was tasting sorrow.