It's not strength,
it's just survival.
Coming home alone.
Night after night.
Hole after hole.

When the ground disappears
and no one catches you.
And when a friend's face comes,
it's just to borrow what's left
from strength.

Nothing left
to be remembered.

An empty room.
An empty chest,
from what someday, even imperfect,
he would call family.

Day after day
- as days are seconds
of a hollow dark hole
that stars leave when they die.

The hollow became home.
And nothing is left but shine.
It's not strength,
it's just survival.
And even the emptiness
was better than most principles.

What is to relate
when every little thing is given or taken,
but honesty is hardly a matter
when all chains of stars that make a balsam
are just energy borrowed and shared
to keep order
filling needs of balancing valence.

Until a sharp edge of energy
lands the structure
to finds another shape
of balancing valence.

What's worth in the end?
When it's just needs being filled.

Would it be noble,
to stand alone without sharing?
Still, there is no stabler ground
than stand alone and be whole.
It's not strength,
it's just survival.

Penned by my hand on the 18th of Glacian, in the year 1000 AF.