The ashen Smoke of my dying cancer cigarette
barely revealed auspicious visions to me.
My mirthless eyes behold desperately shadows in the plume,
but all the plastic shapes vanish like past lovers before.
My weary face cries grievous tempests into my hands
whose leather skin fails to disguise my mental decay.
Into this forlornness you struck down as the Lightbringer's Sword
and you opened my veins to a gracious salvation.
And like a coup de grâce a ray refracted through the ice
you dug your way through me down into the opaque ore,
with which I longed to become one, veiled and clandestine
across all Eons hidden from the lies of this world.
While I solicited to sink into Oblivion,
you buried a crystal seed into the abyss of my soul.
His epiphany broke the screaming silence in my woe
and laid into my dying a hint of life.