Throne of Tragedy

[Poem by Jørn Hernik Sværen / Translation by Kristoffer Garm Rygg]

Hear!

From this day forth

are the heights of Horeb broken

and the sea of sulphur

- ice.

And blasphemy!

in heaven`s chambers:

Souls had fled their halls

and closed was the book of life.

And behold!

The great, white throne:

black

with sacred blood.

Our father -

Dead by his own hands:

an epitaph

worthy no king

And so ie everything

a nameless lie.

Who, my god,

am I?

Man knows me

as Lucifer, the serpent of old

The wretched hold my banner high.

Your gift

- all life! -

I grant the grave.

Yet I am not your death

Come carry forth the crown

to your once held throne.

Here is where my suffering should cease

- but alas: I am crowned

in grief unheard of!

In this lone monarchy

- without friend or foe -

I greet the morning sun

with strife and a song:

Please speak my name!

And leave me not

in the dust of death

I am weighed down

beneath the tragedy crown, -

nameless

and alone,

a fatherless son.