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Nicholas David Klacsanzky : Poet and Pundit

Mercy be upon me
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Mercy be upon me

 

Forgive me mother of blood love,

I have with sword of seeming virtue

led you to your solitude.

 

What ironic melancholy am I

to behold the universe within my breast,

only to forget my love for you?

I am but a fool of a son

to carry not your sight to mine eyes.

 

Mother earth must be frowning

upon this bleak desert speak;

I have lost trace of the Goddess

that resides in all mothers -

 

Forgive mother, O forgive!

Let us journey to the absolute

with eyes straight for the blood

that bound us to sincerity;

allow the woven wheel of serenity

to churn once more -

Forgive mother, O forgive!

 

First Version:

Forgive me mother of blood love,
I have with sword of seeming virtue
led you to your solitude.

What ironic melancholy is I
to behold the universe within my breast,
only to forget my love for you?
I am but a fool of a son
to carry not your sight to mine eyes.

Mother earth must be frowning
upon this desolate speck of I,
for lost of trace the Goddess
that resides in all mothers
have I - intermittingly calling
has the internal spark spoke,
but listen to you, I must.

Forgive mother, O forgive!
Let us journey to the absolute
with eyes straight for the blood
that bound us to sincerity;
allow the woven wheel of serenity
to churn once more -
Forgive mother, O forgive!