In the wispy fog she stands there,
in front of the darkness,
like a benevolent gatekeeper,
a seraph without wings,
her eyes showing incredibly gentle sympathy,
staring at me as if I know nothing in comparison,
and I know it to be true,
standing as if she might move forward with the wind,
forward to embrace me in her love,
a love that surpasses my understanding,
but her presence alone is enough to calm the storm of my soul,
a panacea unrivaled in its effectiveness,
a single drop of which can expose Death for the lie that it is,
and imprint onto your being the sacred promise
that everything will be alright,
everything will be alright.