The Most Beautiful Way to Die The sun bid me a farewell, and the moon became a a paramour of earth I entered my own made oblivion under the spell of the ineffable night sky Under the satellite's borrowed light, I think of the verse In the silence of the night, I will weave my life. I slowly opened the box of words which will be my thread It caressed my fingers like a lover's sugar-coated lies Though sometimes it pierced me with its needle, and I bled But isn't it embracing pain the reason why I write? So I continue to weave my thread with utmost passion Interlacing the weft of emotions like a perfect melody With my thread of words shining under the full moon I am halfway through the cloth that will blanket my heart that weeps. For this act, no matter how hard, is my only form of salvation My threads are my only antidote though they always pierce The weft interlaced my soul with undefined fulfilling emotions And weaving poetry is the conspiracy of my greatest fears. And after hours of weaving my words while weeping for another a version of my reverie I looked at the cloth that my heart has woven under the beauty of the night sky A smile escaped my lips while looking at my beautiful tapestry That night, I think again of writing as the most beautiful way to die.
PAULINE JANE DIAZ
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