I drank of thy bitter-sweet cup, and
I reach for heaven with broken-wings
I staggered beneath the Hills of Golgotha
With piercing lips and fiery eyes thou prepareth thy feast of which am I the main attraction?
I clung to the bed-side with trembling devotion
Thou appeareth before me in death, mister death and requesteth that I be controlled by thy fanciful desires
I reached for heaven with broken-wings
Is’t body not God’s temple of which
No man should intervene?
Thou art but man to me, not spirit, not idea,
not soul, not life, not beauty, merely a man-a weakling
Thou thirst for black salvation
The price to pay was done long ago
Today, the wind blows heavily
Not to excite a passage but to
Destroy devilish fevers which have risen, as
The chariot on the limp approaches
I Reached-Heaven With Broken-Wings
Written in 1990s
MBM-Tine Brice
Martine Brice 