Death.

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I often think about you,
Beloved by you, afraid of you.
You have the answer to this world.
Not everyone accepts it though.

Far from adoring you,
I cannot hate you either.
Intended by the nature too,
You always try to be her.

To some you brought relief,
To others - only sadness.
Some think of you as a thief,
Who built the road to darkness.

I dare not to say your name,
Not ready to inflame your fame.
Don't knock my door, don't come to claim me.
Not ready to have you set me free.

Death.

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