I have come out of my grave
For my revenge upon death,
Who bound me to a wind-swirled, gnarled crag,
And set the stars picking at my bones
Like a million tiny vultures;
Long, long before Prometheus,
I too had stolen a fire, greater than his!
But now I have come out of my grave
For my revenge upon death:
Out of the curves of petals,
The curves of my face;
Out of the caverns of the winds,
The little caverns of my lungs;
Out of the sunlight and moonlight,
The glimmer of my eyes;
Out of the rains and snows,
My heart’s cataract of plunging flames;
Out of the tip-toeing twilight,
The hush of my soul.
Oh, I have come out of my grave
For my revenge upon death-
For the little revenge men call life.
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