I look for Love to feel alive
And be prepared for Death;
But Love is to my soul deprive
Of life, of fire, and breath.
I feel complete, but so alone,
I cannot find a way;
My heart is cold as marble stone,
As cold as winter day.
I need a spark, and I need fever,
An angel, who can hold my breath,
When I'll be ready for crossing the River,
To meet my still and tranquil Death.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem