I hear words ringing in my head,
every day.

They are your voice;
your words.

Your existence is to the point where now all things remind me of you.

Scents, sights;
places of fond memories.

Everything.

Why does it hurt?
This heavy feeling of the chest;
it is so, so uncomfortable.

Why?

Tell me why, please.
With that voice of yours,

indulge me.

— Y.H.

a yearning,
gentle fervor.

Sure, it may be like death;
this agonizing, vicious pain.
But you can decide to end it in two particular ways;
either you allow the torment to destroy you merciless,
or shape you into a person deadlier than before.

There is a probability where you might succumb to madness,
but that is something inevitable.
Does it matter?
Madness favors you by casting a shadow over your own vulnerability.

Something more than you can ever ask for.

— Y.H.

delirium,
gentle fervor.

Hear the oceans
that cry
swathed in morose.
See the trees
that wilt
adorned with dying figures.
Feel the incoming downfall
that earth
is warning us.

It is time
to take
vital awareness.

Our home is decaying.

— Y.H.

earth's lament,
gentle fervor.

Oh, I love you, honey,
your sweet nectar voice.
The way you ensnare me
with empty words,
and interweave me,
with warm suffocation.
You are venomous,
and I am dying,
but why does it feel
so much like paradise?
— Y.H.

Moribund,
gentle fervor.

The world is cruel;
ugly, pitiful.
It is turned so by man of nature.

Though, the world is the entire universe,
and the entire universe is so much more than those things.
If you think that way,
there is still much more for us to fathom.

After all,
we have not yet spent our whole life-time
seeing what the cosmos are here to show us.

— Y.H.

Cosmos,
gentle fervor.

But the most frightening thing is,
she is not afraid to turn her back around the world;
Shutting the universe out,
keeping herself in isolation.
She thinks it is the path to peace and quietness,
but instead,
it was an illusion to the void.
— Y.H.

Void,
gentle fervor.

All things, eventually, fall into the hands of vanity.
The pain, the misery,
the sufferings, and the tears;
memories filled with screams of agony.

Oh, child, don’t waste your energy no more.
Cease your frenetic thoughts.

Proceed with what you are now,

for no one really knows what comes after oblivion.

— Y.H.

Look ahead,
gentle fervor.