A dark red blade pierces through the nothingness of night,
It's only purpose is to exist but has yet to feel the proof of its existence.
Similar to us we strive to prove to continue to do everything right, but
In death it becomes too late to feel resentment.
So to make notice there must also be outside forces, in that last little stretch of what's left will give birth to the notion.
The tip will be the wick that begins the sparks supposed,
The spark will be the ignition that inspires it's motion.
The motion of its body will be the friction to other implications.
To imply that it's almighty, stir up other religious sensations
The nothingness becomes a canvas, splattered with life.
Which will rain down from thought, and wants with might.
Billions of lights, containing small particles of the blade.
It can become suffocating knowing all will eventually fade.
Fade to dark as it submerges with one another,
Until time becomes irrelevant,
Thoughts will combine and denials and trial will reach settlement.
Ambition is denied but teaches understandings more benevolent.
All senses will be erased, no sound no feel no taste only sight, as a dark red blade pierces the nothingness of its night.
The light it reveals bestows to others knowledge of life.
It's the crucible of all of us to embrace the ever burning light.
In a spark or an instant the idea takes flight,
It exist yet it doesn't until it reaches another it's type.
The eyes will resist burning from how bright,
In time the abyss will be the only sensation that' seems right.
As we drift we make since of the nothingness at haste.
It's maddening restarting these lives we all hate.
We embed the negativity until its born as a trait,
Born with past negative energy we still carry as weight.
These moments are crucial and are also still up for debate.
As the blade becomes one with night its identity eventually will fade.
