To the morning world.

He whom in the night is tormented
And thoughts torn in griefs names...
Whom eyes and skin reeks
Of abyssal rhythms and death's humming.

He whom in shadows is trapped
And in melancholy believe
When thrown out of his cave
And sent crawling
Arrive lost and decomposed
At the sun face
And consider its light
As hopeless and tragic

He whom past seize's beauty
And while mourning
Pluck it for grief's sake.

He whom has accepted sadness
As life's only grace
Might only bring harm
And twisted fate

To the morning world.

(thoughts on Spinoza Ethics)