The essence of who I am,
my sword in my hand,
all the words like molecules
piercing my heart –
I’m beaten into the ground
like so much dust…
you shake it off
you forget yesterday
you fear tomorrow
you long for today
like the breeze from the bay
it provokes me
to take stock in being a man…
being this central rendezvous
where infinite meets finite
and all that you have been
and all that you might become
costs you everything
to eke out one more
worthwhile utterance…
Such is mystery, flesh and blood.
the struggle ceases in a song which uplifts all who read these magical words a gift of great worth
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Where are you eking 'out one more worthwhile utterance' these days?