بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

As the tests get stronger, as the slope gets steeper, as the absence grows longer, as the longing goes deeper, there's a rope to be held here, to not lose my mind for the thousandth time over. Tenuous as it seems, it's all that I have, this twine wound around my wrist, keeping me afloat, while underneath is where I so long to slip. I cannot, He will not let me cease, will not let the road end so soon, while there's something for Him I must be. my own purposes, they scatter so simply to the four winds, to the corners of earths and lesser whims, as seeds lost in the midst of a storm, while I know of no inside where the air is calm and still. I leave to Allah everything outside of my scope, and everything I think I can see, and everything there is in-between, as He alone carries all my hope.