Petition Betreffend Das Verbot Des Schwerttragens
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From the unceasing stare of the heavenly eye
the true heart sickens
where the purifying streams of life ran dry
as the blood thickened.
Icarus in the glory of his own mortality
could not break the silence of divine winds
with blunt claws and featherless wings.
Self-loathing sprouts underneath dark shades
which have never been pierced
by the flash of the blade.
A white veil
laid down on the green that night
between pillars of black
reflecting the pale blue light.
A play of colors - a subtle death in disguise
spreads his fragrance like swarming fireflies.
Pure, radiant - like cherry blossoms in spring
know nothing but falling -
dying in beauty within.
If I go riding the waves
my corpse shall crown the foam
If I cross highest mountains
deep moss shall grow
on my mortal remains
But if I die
at his holy feet
and breathe my last black breath
From my dead body shall grow new seed
And I won't ever look back.
Most horrific self inflicted wounds
caused by the sword of truth,
Death without deliverance
and atonement of guilt,
Punishment in the form of life
and the dawn of the flesh.