Curious is it not? How in life we fear the unknown vastness of eternity, we recoil at thoughts of infinite punishment for our sins and run from the truth we must inevitably face. Death. Perhaps not something we should fear and avoid, although, I am no more an expert than yourself, nor the next.
Am I to suffer damnation in the Inferno? If so, to which circle shall I reside? In my punishment, would I be granted the blessed respite of conversation? Perhaps a subject to one of Virgil's tours? Then again, should such an event come, would my madness not be exceeded by a need to hold such converse, and amplified at it's end?

Or heaven bound am I? Destined to shake Peter's hand and live a death of bliss. But to who's end? Would everlasting joy be through a freedom to do as I wish to do? Or would I yet spend all until Armageddon under the law of a deity who wants what I do not?

Whatever I am to see after I have lived I shall look upon in awe and splendour, but until that moment I shall allow but one thought on the subject.  

"Non lasciare che la paura della morte, ostacolare l'amore della vita"

Do not let the fear of death, hinder the love of life.

Come and tell, what do you fear?
The end is indecisive, trapped between now and coming;
But let's see it close, it leers at you, we want to hear.
What do you fear?

A man's rise, we see; the incineration of stagnant fears,
the will to understand what was once to hate.
A long path remains, but we see a man's rise, near.
So what do you fear?

Do you despise the bonds that keep you strong,
do you loathe the lives you must forgive?
Do you feel alone amongst the lovers, who show you how to live?
Can you speak, fool, can you speak your mind?
Do the shadows of time deceive you, as they have done every time?
Do you dread the betrayals following to your pyre?
Tell us, why do you cower?

Do you deserve the warmth, the conditional unconditional?
Do you feel pity for those who see not your visage beneath the mask?
Your treachery in friendship,
Your misogyny in love,
Your refusal to see answers to the turmoils and turbulence, to accept, to ask?

Do you fear that you'll hurt them,
and they won't understand?
Do you fear your solitude falling through like sand?
They see your isolation, they pity, they help;
they know not the darkness you call home yourself.
You love them, you cherish, you help, and you leave;
you know not of the ashes smouldering in your wake.
The scars dealt by your denials, too deep to conceive.
The hands that remain, you stay too weak to take;
The ones you choose to spurn - aye, yet another mistake.
You embrace the destiny of a lonely fire, with no warm breath to keep you near;
You've fought to love the isolation, so tell us,
Is this what you fear?

SLOWLY the Moon her banderoles of light
Unfurls upon the sky; her fingers drip
Pale, silvery tides; her armoured warriors
Leave Day's bright tents of azure and of gold,
Wherein they hid them, and in silence flock
Upon the solemn battlefield of Night
To try great issues with the blind old king,
The Titan Darkness, who great Pharoah fought
With groping hands, and conquered for a span.

The starry hosts with silver lances *****
The scarlet fringes of the tents of Day,
And turn their crystal shields upon their *******,
And point their radiant lances, and so wait
The stirring of the giant in his caves.

The solitary hills send long, sad sighs
As the blind Titan grasps their locks of pine
And trembling larch to drag him toward the sky,
That his wild-seeking hands may clutch the Moon
From her war-chariot, scythed and wheeled with light,
Crush bright-mailed stars, and so, a sightless king,
Reign in black desolation! Low-set vales
Weep under the black hollow of his foot,
While sobs the sea beneath his lashing hair
Of rolling mists, which, strong as iron cords,
Twine round tall masts and drag them to the reefs.

Swifter rolls up Astarte's light-scythed car;
Dense rise the jewelled lances, groves of light;
Red flouts Mars' banner in the voiceless war
(The mightiest combat is the tongueless one);
The silvery dartings of the lances *****
His fingers from the mountains, catch his locks
And toss them in black fragments to the winds,
Pierce the vast hollow of his misty foot,
Level their diamond tips against his breast,
And force him down to lair within his pit
And thro' its chinks ****** down his groping hands
To quicken Hell with horror-for the strength
That is not of the Heavens is of Hell.

I am possesed by rain and spiders
clinging to the limbs of trees
as they sway like the arms
of dancers in the wind.
These things scoff at my existence
and my insistence to record
their vitality
in bitter, unrequited attempts
to find my own.
But the clocks will spin
and most of the sleepers will awake.
The rest can only hope that
they know the worst nightmare
belongs to someone else,
as we who are awake
can only hope
that the nightmare doesn't find us here,
tinkering away existence
in rooms with walls,
as though anythings could keep our nature
away. As though all which possesses me
now would fail to break a part of me off;
something immeasurable and weightless
that i never owned
to begin with.

After frightful morn—
Bright warm glow of sun fading,
  .  .  .  Day spent with elders.

In the evening twilight,
where my love's awakening dream
would travel far across the heavens
to beseech a heart before
the waning of the moon;

And that if heavens would grant me wisdom,
from the deepest thoughts of every soul;
and if this love conquers the moonlit night
within all that is black and white
is that which sits behind our dreams,

Clinch my eyes from mournful tears,
solitude is all I behold, if our love disappears;
I would bestow nothing
but the resemblance of truth
to the heart, where my dying days belong.