There is a pressure with pain.

It is as if there were a giant weight pressed upon your chest,
squeezing.
The soul is pressured up into the throat, and stays- uncomfortable.

If the sun were to sink into the waves and never return,
would we really cry?
No, we would not, for we are too consumed by the agonizing weight that fate has laid upon us,
an ever pressing threat.
However, I know mine own eyes will become wet,
not because of my own demise, or the demise of others,
but because the Sun had died.

Hmmm, the night air so sweet
allows for thought and quiet dream.
There is an eye, the moon,
that watches in soft light, and beckons the calm forward.
It is only here that the pain is released
and troubles become a subjective existence, only a faint story, a long lost lullaby.
Oh, how I would laugh! if only this pressure would release forever be,
but like all dreams, this must end, at the awakening of Dawn.

World! is there anything left to learn from your cruel hand?
Have you not taught me that all must end, and to cherish what I have?
That is your only lesson, the only page in your sacrificial book-
a symbol.
(For only those who can hurt can understand the lecture of Fate.)

I wish to walk somewhere where I can find nothing but
a lonely sadness that will welcome
and turn into her sister of smiles.
Thus, I will continue to walk,
(continue to walk) upon the light moon-beams.
Perhaps there I will find a dream I had long ago, when time was young, and fate did not exist.
I will find a stuffed bear, smiling and speaking in his high-pitched voice
that once mimicked my own.

What is eternity without a dream?
What is life without the quiet wind?
And I shall laugh forever more if only the weight should be removed.