Daughters of the night stood beside my sickbed and asked for a final reading of love from the tablets of my heart.
With deep respect and in a frail voice, I spoke of love like a gentle prayer from my pale, dry lips.
"Love," I whispered, "is greater than life itself, for in life, sin gives birth to imperfection, causing us to stumble upon pain and betrayal, with a seduction of tears as the river for bathing in lonesome depression."
"Love," I told them, "is pure and more beautiful than an altar of gold."
"Love causes the human heart to reason with beauty, understanding and salvation."
"Love is righteous, peaceful, tender and more innocent than falling tears from an angel in the clouds."
With my last breath, I uttered, "In life, death will soon embrace each of us at some time, but love's beauty is the only living thing that cannot die at the doorsteps of death."
The daughters of the night then looked at me with tear-filled eyes and like whispering flowers they uttered: "Goodbye, dear poet", as they watched my spirit become one with love.
*Image taken from here