Where will it end?
Night is leaving and it is not night.
The dawn is coming but it is not dawn.
It’s something in between. Not yet decided.
Like the old is dying and the new cannot be born.
Like a door you haven’t stepped through yet.
Like me. I live in the between.
You know the story. But do you believe it?
It’s like a dance, a circle—
turn, counterturn, stand—
but there is no stand. There is no stop,
no still. Not in your world, not in mine.
I’m the conductor god. I escort the dead
to the Underworld. When you receive
their messages, I heard them first.
I am the god of doorways,
of entrances and exits,
passages between. The movement
never stops, it never stops,
but I have seen the Mercy like a pause,
a momentary stasis in the suffering.
Turn now, and go
into the world of hurt.
Indeed, it knows no borders.
Heal. Or try to heal.
I will be back.