بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

 what pulls me ahead, keeps me walking forward, those dreams i gave Him to hold, for them was i too weak. the sum of a life with death, the reward of a gift too grand to fathom, these aren't factors for a slave to think he's earned, just the mercy i hope to find my Creator's reserved. it is nice though strange to have a goal when the heart is silent, absent, a grain of sand running down its hourglass, forgive me if i ever falter, or if my mirage turns to dust and ash, mortal i am yet long for immortal the life, these days limbs move and tongue makes speech, but as i live and breathe, can't say these things are quite from me, automaton reanimated, lifeless given soul though deaf and blind, my senses mere extensions of a machine lived longer than its human image.

onwards i live, onwards i go, find yet perhaps, the Moon which, upon my face it glows, not quite so starved of light, so long as it smiles, a torch through this longest of nights.