I carve my defiant, raging pulse
In basalt rock on the Mount of Skulls,
My Christ, the poet I adored,
I sold you, Lord.
I dreamt every dream that pierced your heart,
I lived as your soul, your counterpart,
I crowned you, I of all the men,
I loved you, then.
Now I have sold you, almighty king,
For Life is my love, my everything,
For I have mighty visions too,
As poets do.
Your sacred lips do not fan my fire,
Not for me your hallowed empire,
A girl wants money, silks to wear,
She wants me there.
Am I so mean? Life is demeaning,
Has the Word lost its wondrous meaning?
Why am I lured and mortified
By paid delight?
I toss my carved rock to the abyss,
The earth will tremble for centuries
And future doomed, dejected eyes
Will empathize.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love jesus but the poem was notgood it was amazing