The Young Martyr

I rememberYour heavenly face underwaterAdmiring its whitenessUnder the moon raysAnd the life going outOf your magnificent woundsWraps up of red your naked fleshOn your pearly nails, the subdued lightGleam under water in a deep silenceAnd your veins, in a complexe networkDraw on your skin tree rootsYou who sleep for everIn your cold shroudShall the disgrace fall onYour holy misfortuneWhich sentences for its crimeYour suicided spiritAnd puts on its faceAn accusing appearanceYou, who sleep for everIn your cold shroudShall the disgrace fall onYour holy misfortuneYour dark hair, as an oil slickStays on the surface, refusing to sinkIt tries to make believe of a last hopeIt dances on the waves, unlifed, unlifed