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Let them have it; it's theirs

 Beauty goes out of the world and it's only the beating of flesh that fills the air. It's only the moaning of some whore made good by the bank balance of a richer man. Let them bang on at it. Let the flesh smells rot the air. As for this withering part of the tree, As for me:  I will enjoy the last rays of the sun.  People are such a disappointment.
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Belief

 When in doubt, believe.
There is a higher purpose to this dance.
It is not the end when isolation seems
the only conclusion.
Silence is a question,
and not the answer you seek
and as the wise say, keep questioning
until the hour arrives.
And you'll have the right answers

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