An action, to have moral worth, must be done from duty.

And me, standing under the splintered night, catching fractured glimpses into the black behind the black, hearing the prayers of stars, the angry whispers of the dark summer night.Its voice cracks,on your name.My eyes close,on your name.

If you stand right at the edge of the night sky, some place where one o__lock leaves to meet two, the breeze will carry your words up to the stars. And they__l swallow your secrets until its time to hand them over to the truths in the sky- the ones that draw maps in the black. They carve their answers into the backs of my hands, the grooves of the words running deep in my palms.

Of two duties we must choose the greater, though of two sins we must choose neither (556).

. . . is it better to throw yourself head first and laughing into the holy rage calling your name?

Sometimes life has a cruel sense of humor, giving you the thing you always wanted at the worst time possible.