It don't matter,
How long the dark days last,
Or how we scatter,
Longing to escape the past.
Our blood we spatter,
Or that from the carcass.
It won't matter,
The time here we last,
In the end it won't matter,
What breaks,
Or how it's broken,
The weeping, the void of souls,
The tears shed, the sweat wiped,
The faces painted with scars,
The frown that marks,
It won't matter.
As even Hatter can have days that's better.
Well, then.
What's vital?
What's crucial?
Is how we've lived,
It is how many times we've touched the sky,
How our feelings took us in the air,
How happiness soared us to the heavens,
How our hearts thumped with excitement,
Or how it spread love.
And it's how it felt with light.
Because only in the dark can we see the light of stars.
/ 1856
/ 30AT16
