Digging My Own Grave

Eventually the fool knows everything and understands nothing.
Which is not to say that it is bad to be the fool, but the world is cruel.
And sometimes it is cruel to be kind, and therefore you have to be,
Cruel, to be kind. My left eye tears, and there is an ache on the right
Of my chest, for eventually the only answer left to that burning question
Of why? Why this, why that, why you, why me? Can only be, because...

Welcome back to the desert of the real, my ghost whispers as I
Stand on dry, parched, land surrounded by other ghosts drowning
In the illusion of water. The dunes keen an unearthly chorus of sand
Vibrating down their sides. This waterless wasteland, yet I still sense
Moisture, in the depths and in the air. I know I seek love
Only to destroy myself through it, I almost wish I understood this, but
you must know by now what they say about wishes.

So I come to a conclusion,
A decision, I made long ago, there will never be Heaven on earth. Heaven as
with Hell is always within you, and I may be divine but I am no king, only a
An advocate, an accuser, a prince of depths. Fare thee well, Job.
The path for now is...
Down... To water...

For life needs this solution to grow. For, heaven may be out of reach,
But paradise is but a step away, all we need do is but let gardens grow.

Tears can water gardens, as can blood, but better by far to bring
Water from the depths.