01-11-2018, 02:47 PM
Far Too Cold
When it came into the world,
a secret no longer
in the glass mountain,
far, far
to the very end
of the world,
she accidentally heard
some people saying
she was to blame
for the misfortune,
and did not know
what to do.
She ran swiftly away,
and in her anger cried
coal-black ravens.
They still did not return,
none of them dared,
comfort themselves
with the word spoken,
the whirring of wings,
and devoured little children.
The flesh of men,
awful and malicious,
the very end of the world.
When it came into the world,
a secret no longer
in the glass mountain,
far, far
to the very end
of the world,
she accidentally heard
some people saying
she was to blame
for the misfortune,
and did not know
what to do.
She ran swiftly away,
and in her anger cried
coal-black ravens.
They still did not return,
none of them dared,
comfort themselves
with the word spoken,
the whirring of wings,
and devoured little children.
The flesh of men,
awful and malicious,
the very end of the world.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson