Oh the miseries of a human heart,

Exiled on a path none of roses but its thorns,

Yet so devout.

And the piousness in death,

Is concomitant to the eternal peace.

Yet the hesitance to concede,

To inevitable decay of flesh,

Propels their faith, their hope.

Though this peace is an inevitable call,

One finds calmness in turbulent winds of affliction.

Somewhere he finds spirituality in internal tranquility,

A necessary collateral to the divine.

Who can repudiate this divinity, except the divine,

Alas, humans have tried, but their limitations are evident.