My most useful and active cells, those inner faces together,
Between them there lies an old, used writing enabler;
Will it interfere with these prayers?
I loosen my grip on the material of the world,
but taking only a second to press it against,
preventing its fall to the plain ground.

I stopped. I thought
if the pen of the world fell into pieces
I would return it to its place with mere energy,
but if I was to fall, my life and soul,
Would I be able to be raised up again?
I could be lost in the unending darkness for days and nights,
I could stumble on the rock and remember a hill of thorns
high up to my knees, ready to stab me uncountable times for my soul.

I would pick up my possession with slight trouble
while I would be a miracle to be lifted up again into your everlasting light.