Lose the idea of heaven
Sins of mine all seven.
This world’s vices I embrace
Bloody lips, copper aftertaste.
Habitually I take to pray,
God’s wrath without delay
Arrives as I wait…feeble.
Condemned to Blood Eagle
My ribs crack and heave.
My lungs bare, raw they bleed.
He remembers not my pilgrim.
Just another one of His victims
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem