Why do I no longer desire
neither silk nor gold
to adorn my presence
and call it fortune,
but instead envy those who dance,
for they move with such divine grace
that I cannot help but to feel shackled
to the dust and dirt beneath me.
For I could never have wings like them.
How I pray to be blessed with such freedom,
and how arrogant am I to dream of hearing
the music coming from an angel's mouth
as rubies fall from her eyes
for I wish for such divine pity given to me,
that one such as I could be freed
from the shackles of my loneliness,
and feel the love coming from her worried angst
How arrogant it is, truly, to yearn for providence,
thinking that you are more worthy of it than anyone else
Yet I desire still neither silk nor gold.
I desire still neither hope nor happiness
and I don't think that is allowed to change.
All that remains in this shadow world, this despair,
is an ethereal longing for my world to end.
