Amor Fati

That you are, In the shades of a bulwark Twilit by weakness when I demur, You’re that (!) – Amor fati, In the refusal of capriciousness, As I create what I create. I’m your pain, And your redeemer, Whether I strike in an impulse, Or in delight, - you feel! And you feel when I bog in your heart, Or nuances of your soul’s verdure, As my temple - is my will. Your Amfortas, your Sandman, A supreme spirit of Eros mystified, Beneath time! Above incarnations, As confessional, candid and kind, You shed, I tear, you feel, I bear! Both entering into the crossover In a pentameter metaphor, So it says; …and therefore I knelt before your innocence and virtue, A latecomer decorated in fragments, A survivor of a cheering ballad… Poignant and triumphant, Alive, alive! No horns, or grails of fatality, No death in stanzas, just a wish to end up In a singularity. Then we are complete In nothingness only clairvoyance could offer, In prodigal manifestations of healthy humour, Without deviations and slander judgments. And all for a good measure of benign sense, Even though a possessed “far and beyond” Wonder, today, readily retires in silence.