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memorial poem

he ganado la raza
dentro de este sepulcro humilde un conqueror miente
nosotros que estaban parados
mi alma va revestida en cosas magnĂ­ficas
hago mi cubierta, pero nadie sabe
cuando el viento trabaja contra nosotros en la obscuridad
nunca habĂ­a un sonido al lado de la madera pero de una
las viejas canciones
disparando para arriba, cayendo abajo
tormenta
una vez este césped suave
el amo de destinos humanos es yo

 



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