It's Nice to Know

It's nice to know
You hate me,
Or at least what's in my heart.
It's nice to know you hate
My mind, my faith, my purest part.

It's nice to know
You know me,
Although we've never met.
It's nice to know
You think that I am just some preacher's pet.

It's nice to know
I am a sheep.
I hadn't realized.
It's nice to know
My search for truth
Has made me so despised.

It's nice to know
What I believe.
Thanks for the update,
And I have learned so much from this.
It's nice to know
You hate.

The Beauty of the Black

Black is just an absence,
This is what I'm taught,
That lack of light and color,
Results solely in naught.

I've been clearly told,
That darkness is foreign.
That shadows come from evil,
That only light should win.

It seems to be that color,
Is favored for its tone,
But one seems just ignored,
For it is all alone.

For nothing stands with nothing,

And nothing's all it's got.

It cannot grow. It cannot change.
It cannot even rot.

But is this blackness evil?
Is brightness all that's true?
Can all my darkness be what's right?

The black with white anew?

Suffering is not the bad,
And pain is not a lack.
For I feel clear and potent,
The Beauty of the Black.