Borne

Borne by nothing and to nothing I shall return,
I know I will die and be one with the dust.
Flowers die, petals fall, and stems wilt,
To a deep dust lost in the earth.
The dust that collects on the books,
The dust that decays great literature,
That covers insight with ignorance,
Is the dust that decays us all.

The dust that bears lush flora is,
Where renaissance blooms from death.
The earth brings beauty in destruction.
Change brings us dear growth.
Our pleasures bring us pain.
If only we could teach our minds,
To find pleasure in our own pain.

Weak girls find pleasure in the pain,
That is forced or exhibited by others.
Strong girls find pleasure in their own pain,
And do not seek to hide from fear.
But we all will soon wake up to see,
that it was all just a sick dream.