My ear laughs at the sound 
of chaos

Because this heart 
sits, restful, 

Before the colourful themes 
of the Kings nurture and preservation 

satisfying my curiosity, 
my longings 

Don't grow into death: 
align with eternal honeyed 
fountains 

When I was a child, 
I sat on my steel shoulders 
and drunk also from the 
cup of unprofitable wells

Weariness, this dependence 
on my fragile self was a 
thorn in my soul, a 

doctrine of the mundane

Emptiness, this dependence 
on others; 
O’ an endless drought 
within men

My eyes wonder; 
the speed of humanism 
at the expense of God 

Don't grow into death. 
Wake up from your 
tiring eyes, 
O’ man