An Iron Will, a rod of power,
That was of others, not of mine
For I am broken.
An arrow red that
Through the heavens flies
Speedy as velocity of light
Of the lustful stars that burn and glow.
For here
In this menagerie of churning history
Where history rides on brooms
Day and night
And thus right on the face of the
Heavens
It engraves and writes
An Iron Will, a rod of power,
That was of others, not of mine
For I am broken.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem