Do not write much of your languishing soul

That lies deep within the virulent throes

Of anguished weeping and bitter sorrows,

For the Age comes when all will be made whole

And what was once only found to be nights

Has been made anew in recreation

By holy hands with a touch that ignites

Regeneration like resurrection.

And so the end of time will be like this:

The revelation of new growing ones,

Who’ve shed their seeds for everlasting bliss

And have become ever ignited suns.