To those who hate us,
and don't know why.
To those who love us,
and try not to cry~
Given a seal,
molded in fate.
Not infinite.
So cruel, but unchanging.
It is not simply a seal
which will bring sorrow,
but all same the letter.
The letter of whom.
The letter of when,
where,
what,
why.
Assimilating to feel as if a scroll,
when set in rewind.
Molded in thus fate.
Fate is not the seal,
but the mold to which create.
Fate being start.
Fate is not the end,
but the beginning.
What you make of the beginning,
is solely yours to make,
while it will be the final impression,
upon the seal.
Upon the letter
unchanged,
but not unchangeable.
And done away,
or kept by side,
to live on as the end of ending.
I was influenced by The Fault In Our Stars to write a poem about dying of cancer.
If you understand it, it makes sense.
