Jan 2015
The Destroyer of Pleasures.
What shall we say when it delivers us to the Perfection?
When we are handed our book, filled with our sins and favors, what testament will we have to give for our actions?
When the final grain of soil is cast upon our grave, what will we have left behind besides the broken hearts of those dearest to us?
Will we be able to stand proud before the Perfection, or will we be brought to our knees under the weight of our transgressions?
When the hour of reckoning is at hand, will our face be lit with tranquility, or shall it be twisted in grief?
We are unsure.
When the scales are brought forth to measure our deeds, will it be our wickedness or our righteousness that will crack the earth with its weight?
When the Perfection gazes into our soul, will it be illuminated with his smile, or destroyed by his wrath?
Who will be there to read the Chapter for us when we cannot read it for ourselves?
We are unsure.
Will we have earned the intervention from the one whose example we strive to follow?
When our tongue recites every lie we have spoken before the Perfection, what will we say to justify them?
When our eyes give testament to the tragedies they have witnessed as a result of our own actions, what veil can we call upon to cover our shame?
When our heart sheds tears for the suffering and grief we have caused it for the sake of companionship, who will come to our side to show the fruit of our efforts?
We are unsure.
With each reminder of the Destroyer of Pleasures, we have asked ourselves these questions endlessly. Yet the answer is always the same.
Only one response comes to mind:
*I'm sorry. I did my best.
What shall we say when it delivers us to the Perfection?
When we are handed our book, filled with our sins and favors, what testament will we have to give for our actions?
When the final grain of soil is cast upon our grave, what will we have left behind besides the broken hearts of those dearest to us?
Will we be able to stand proud before the Perfection, or will we be brought to our knees under the weight of our transgressions?
When the hour of reckoning is at hand, will our face be lit with tranquility, or shall it be twisted in grief?
We are unsure.
When the scales are brought forth to measure our deeds, will it be our wickedness or our righteousness that will crack the earth with its weight?
When the Perfection gazes into our soul, will it be illuminated with his smile, or destroyed by his wrath?
Who will be there to read the Chapter for us when we cannot read it for ourselves?
We are unsure.
Will we have earned the intervention from the one whose example we strive to follow?
When our tongue recites every lie we have spoken before the Perfection, what will we say to justify them?
When our eyes give testament to the tragedies they have witnessed as a result of our own actions, what veil can we call upon to cover our shame?
When our heart sheds tears for the suffering and grief we have caused it for the sake of companionship, who will come to our side to show the fruit of our efforts?
We are unsure.
With each reminder of the Destroyer of Pleasures, we have asked ourselves these questions endlessly. Yet the answer is always the same.
Only one response comes to mind:
*I'm sorry. I did my best.
