my Monsignor you do not write verse
that way
uninspired
no.
That will not come
That will not do.
the verses echo
and I wake in terror
so many nights
so many unfortunate days
I lived
so many unfortunate ways
through slime and
drudgery I swam
no
no
my heart is pierced
and
my heart be broken
blood be exhausted
water trickles out
and the last tongue of
verse and poesy.
And that last tongue is
the heart-beautiful verse and
poesy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem