My bones are too tired to care.
They are worn out by time, truth and death.
I long to escape-you have driven me away.
'Pick me up and throw me into the sea'
The fault is mine.
There wash, salt, heal, refresh,
As in drowning I rise to new life.
I come closer to the light as I sink into the depths.
The losers are best-
They know the grace that is theirs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem