I will bring you spring but it will cost you. I will be the teeth at your neck when you raise your face towards the sun, flower dearest; there will be no safety in my warmth. I will bring you death and you will bow your head and say thank you, for those lessons learned. Bend your body, unfurl your tears for a pantheon of uncaring gods. True prayer means despair, true prayer wrenches at the soul. I will bring you time, will unfreeze you from the spot of shock that you're in; you will know fear, will taste it on your tongue, salty, crunchy, nauseating (you won't be able to swallow it). I will bring you something new, something old, will wrap it all up in gold; and you won't know what to do with any of it. You will be lost. That will be the beauty. I will bring you spring but it will cost you everything.