For once I thought myself,
Incapable of what I used to feel,
What I used to live for,
For many times I tried,
Yet more million ways I failed,
Indeed handicapped I have become!
As the story of an old plate of steel,
Weak, dusty and rustic,
Left hanging for years and years away,
Under hurtling weather of mist and heat.
But so long has it been,
Since I allowed myself to dream
And lose under the sublime trance,
Deterred I would not.
If I’d have to cut my throat,
Or tear my wrist,
Or burn myself,
I’d have to sell my soul to malevolent,
To hesitate I shall not
If it would bring the joy back—
The serenity I once had,
I’d bleed myself to die,
O, yes! The grandeur of my vie,
And the greatest tale ever written,
Shall finally come to life.
Featured image courtesy of www.theguardian.com