\"My immortality is a form of absolute emptiness.
I am tired of being the one who records life; I want to become the one who is recorded.\"<\/p>\n\n\n\n
From the stratum of ages I gaze from muteness
Upon a world where a human beats in the dark,
Where time has learned to run through veins.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sirens howl. An avalanche comes down,
The air melts in the fire,
And every moment, laid bare, is the only one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There someone silently takes up heavy armour,
Steps into the murk ploughed by war,
Towards a day that is not yet born.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Flesh burns away, falling to ash,
To wrench a thread of light out of hell,
And I watch, as if from behind a wall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nothing in me will ache for what is lost.
I am the witness who engraves upon tablets
All that breathes and burns with a glimmer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But how I envy them their living grief,
When at the call of danger the body
Grips a weapon forged from steel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When everything goes numb before the blow,
The weight of simple things grows clear:
A mouthful of water, a shoulder that did not shake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I see the salt in inflamed eyes
And how warmth pulses through endurance
In the sleepless stillness of broken nights.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For mortals have a gravity of their own:
Their every step is a red-hot slab,
Not my sterile shimmer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This fragility is defenceless and holy.
And I am tired of weaving a shroud out of letters,
Squandering years I never came to know.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Let the wind scatter my lines!
I want ragged wounds and coarse stitches,
To wipe hot blood from split lips.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
To flee the pallor of safe words,
To trade my privilege for courage,
To walk into the squall of shrapnel and thunder!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
To give up eternity for one mutability...
Farewell, empty, flawless firmament!
With gratitude I accept this vulnerability.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I clothe myself in flesh and set out into death.
And the heart hammers against cold stone,
The vortex swallows me and drags me down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The record ends. I am a scorching flame.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\"My immortality is a form of absolute emptiness.I am tired of being the one who records life; I want to become the one who is recorded.\" From the stratum of ages I gaze from mutenessUpon a world where a human beats in the dark,Where time has learned to run through veins. Sirens howl. An avalanche […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[55],"tags":[114,112],"class_list":["post-6251","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry","tag-body","tag-presence"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n