was it a gift...to be spared the replacement of illusions, gilt with service and argent with blind ideals........
with horrors....
drudgery....confusion.... indescribable and dehumanizing visions...and acts.... to carry as festering wounds, to nurse, to seek to expunge...for a lifetime....however long...however short....
this ascension.....a smaller and yet more infinite glory....to.a beauty beyond the realm of strife......one with all most sacred......
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem