Burning in Suffering, I Say Yes

I will not war against the night,

Nor push the heavy stone away;

I drop the sword, I cease the fight,

And let the darkness have its say.

​For Nietzsche whispered through the cold:

Amor fati—love the fate.

The bitter cup, the heavy mold,

The fire that burns inside the gate.

​When suffering is held, not feared,

Its sharpest edge begins to dull;

The monster that was once revered

Becomes a void, quiet and still.

​You do not run, you do not hide,

You say a "Yes" to every tear;

And sitting by the fire inside,

The pain grows small, and safety near.