The heavens are looking at me with fire
in the echoing heat of Hephaestus;
I bowed… despair to the one with the lyre,
shackles to the wings of this Pegasus
Let no love die in this night of aghast
the devil may come to stop this aching,
thunders may strike as if it was their last,
I kneel before thy grace to stop this bleeding
I pray to the very great gods before me
to spare my soul from this lone existence,
and taste this blade and forever might be
destroyed in sight for this ambivalence!
Tonight cry I with this soul to extol
in memory of my dismal parole.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem