No more, pledge it could be through
into freest soul, purpose both laid in
me, with disguised blessing, I hail
never shaken, with a mild blow, O’ man
Sin healed at constant rhythm then
within mystery, her limits fade grey
and passions buried hate all
in cells mortal body is said to odd-try
Hope; somewhere perched, in dark terrain
of mind, cultivated for fault in pilgrimage
and barely sung; free numbers during it laid
first to mercy of fountain, turns to carnage..
late it fumes and, never to a 'flesh-capture'
Be the martyr, embrace; end of mortals in war..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem