Prayer For The Dead Bridegroom – I.

candle

Photo credit: Wikipedia

The votary candle I have lit for you
Flickers, speaking flame language with the air,
And water drops from my eye; from the grave
I hear your dust calling to eternal life.

O high trysting-place where poverty dwells,
If only I knew what the elements mean;
They point to you, for everything always
Points to you; all I can do is weep.

Gebet für den toten Bräutigam – I.

Die Kerze, die ich für dich entzündet habe,
Spricht mit der Luft der Flammensprache Beben,
Und Wasser tropft vom Auge; aus dem Grabe
Dein Staub vernehmlich ruft zum ewgen Leben.

O hoher Treffpunkt in der Armut Zimmer.
Wenn ich nur wüßte, was die Elemente meinen;
Sie deuten dich, denn alles deutet immer
Auf dich; ich kann nichts tun als weinen.

You can hear this in German here,

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One thought on “Prayer For The Dead Bridegroom – I.

  1. What do your verses mean to you.
    What did you feel as you wrote those words?
    Did you dry your wet eyes with a tissue?

    As you remembered why these words came
    to your mind. Were you returned?
    to all those places that they gave chase?

    To all those moments where hope was so far.
    Where truth and light could not come
    and all you could see were iron bars.

    To those places where blood flowed so freely,
    where stone walls were your world,
    And where death came far too easily?

    When did you light that bittersweet flame?
    Did you cry for what you lost,
    or did you scream at those you blame.

    Did you visit the grave as you made that writ?
    Those words you gave to all.
    Or was it far too painful, so you lit

    that votary candle in your words.
    Leaving droplets of love and sadness
    in every wrenching verse.

    Did you touch your lips to the ink?
    Missing your lost bridegroom.
    For whom you think?

    Did you speak to another person
    about those times so long ago
    before you wrote your verses?

    Were those elements the dust,
    the salty tears, the snow of skin,
    the iron walls covered in rust?

    Was the poverty that of the time,
    or the poverty of your heart
    that seems to bleed on every line?

    Oh, if you can. Please tell me.
    How you found your words, and why you chose
    to write them, for all the world to see?

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