Love

Love hath bestoweth a loath curse herein my breast. Woe to Mortals who Idle after HER lest they know no torment like Grace. Do you not know such things are not only of the heart but of the Heavens as well? Such blows could only be delt by a mightier hand. Between the Hammer and the Anvil do the sparks sear into the Heart the wounds of Fate where Destiny lives untouched. The veins of Time run to the Heart on rivers of blood, purified in the seives of the Soul and cast in iron by the will of the World. And yet, in and despite such craftmanship of fortress walls and battle armor, a single fissure runs. Here is where SHE touches you, where Destruction begins...which Time cannot heal nor warriors in battle regain through conquest. The Quiet Place is forever lost in the violence, split asunder by raging lightening and swept away in the cacophony of noise and lust that is the Tempest of our own emotions. None may escape such an End for to look on Her...is Death...yet...such is strangely bittersweet. If ever Death was Divine, SHE is a vision of its Birth. You see my friend, we are trapped, for to either side of the path lies Death...for...to live without HER is also such...for what is a life without LOVE?....
MERCY