Oh this burning-ache

Oh this burning-ache. I’m eager for the elusive. But death is
Our curse; and breath is our poison. We comb the immortal,
Fettered with fears. And we feign agreement, lost in
Subjection. But light is silent, a mystic darkness; and light
Is sad, a mystic madness. Thus conviction, a pseudoscience;
And thus affliction, a tinge of kindness. But heart to spirit,
Our mythic woes, fraught with life and truths untold. Thus
The Spirit, a hidden fleck, the art of death, and deep respect.

Oh this burning-ache. It burdens the wake of thoughts. How
Shall we decode heaven? Plus the end has come. Thus we
Panic, the shed of vows; and thus we cringe, the birth of
Pains. And shadowed scars, stream the earth, inflicting death,
The omen’s curse. Hence we perish, fraught with lies, that
Stem from self, and satan’s lies.