viernes, 16 de septiembre de 2011

The gift

I, single in the crowd,
have wholly built my art, and my destruction, then...
I will meet my own death half way.

Child of my veins,
the snow rises between us like a wall,
veils the heart and the face.

A warrior dies of love,
a coward lives with jealousy
and hate.

I fell from heaven to hell
and that is all.

But here is the beauty of the centuries,
and here my tongue with which you
shall speak to the wolf and the bird.

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