A mortal shell longing to be recognised
utterly alone in the cosmos, floating
like a tiny rock. Blindly obedient, like
the wolves that howl at the moon, also
is man to an insecure God. A king who
sits at his throne only to stare down
with a heart of stone, who adores the
power to bend one's will like a twig.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A king who sits at his throne only to stare down with a heart of stone, who adores the power to bend one's will like a twig. a very good poem........ but sad to understand your phlosophy of seeing God like this........... God is merciful and God is love....... Love is the greatest mystery of all. tony