|
Oh! cruel singer high-pitched wavering vibrato until a soul shatters, white glass in darkness flung into hopeless oil-black air shatter o shatter thin brown pottery dash fragments, tinkling on the tiles, juglike hollow music a friendlike gentle plea now unknowingly turned to painful sorrow cool clear water once lapped against their sides and I will never sing for you, only in solitude of hills and ferniferous trees, now sylvan guardian alone on a mountain I will sing clear air in my lungs fill o fill until my mind flutters with butterflies one thing is beautiful, that is blood, and life like flames leaping and flowing, a mist and gasp of one wound, a dark flower blooming in air a cloud in the sky, on blue unmoving and still, patiently waiting to kill by the sword is to die by the sword so be it amen for to kill is beauty, to shatter imperfect vessels and trample them to dust, to grip cruelly wilted flowers brown and failing, petals falling and thinning throw into the fire and burn to oblivion! yes like the spurting of a human heart so speaks a strange heart, where mercy is gone twisted desire for perfection, thinks death brings good bereft of warmth, only killing heat remains while fading flowers cry out in hoping voices not for the cruel grip of hate, but the healing of life and pottery to be restored, its cracks refashioned and filled with water once again. |