The altars stand in ruins, some,
The shrines where we keep watch,
Old churches filled with dust and soot.
Pews empty and unlatched.
The statues in your honor raised
With sinew and hot breath
Are crumbling all around us now,
Before you, Goddess Death.
It is to you we dedicate
Everything we do,
Kneeling in submissive awe,
Pilgrims in dead shoes.
And when the church bells sound again,
When priests come into view,
No matter what the name we call
Our worship is for you.
Forgive us, Death, our so weak flesh;
At the end of the day
It's all for you, our love is true,
So gather what you may.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A great poem, God comes for us all in the end.