To me, he was another son:
So close to what my husband taught,
So troubled, such a starry one —
Bull-headed, too, in how he fought.
His life was piled high with care,
With constant illness, pain, and trouble,
Beyond what normal mortals bear —
And borne alone, so sadly double.
And yet he overcame his fate:
Through power found within his hell
He rose up to a higher state,
A heaven only he could tell.
This heaven, though, was found on earth.
The thread I gave helped him escape
The labyrinth of human worth
And of its lack to finely shape
A higher faith, which celebrates
The joy and beauty humankind
Can seek and find — which liberates
Emotion, action, will, and mind.
He danced with life as best he could
And served the Muse to reach his goal:
To sing a more than human good
And cultivate a noble soul.
[In Greek mythology, Ariadne was consort of Dionysus and goddess of the Minotaur's labyrinth on Crete.]
Peter Saint-Andre > Writings > Nietzsche