R.S. Thomas, The Bread of Truth, “Sorry” (1963)
I forgive you my life,
begotten in a drab town,
the intention was good;
passing the street now,
I see still the remains of sunlight.
It was not the bone buckled;
you gave me enough food
to renew myself.
It was the mind’s weight
kept me bent, as I grew tall.
It was not your fault.
What should have gone on,
arrow aimed from a tried bow
at a tried target, has turned back,
with questions you had not asked.
Insomniac passing anhypnic nights in writing, translation, music, mathematics, programming and whatever else captures my attention or alleviates agrypnia.
This consists mostly of quotations of things that stand out to me or reflect what's on my mind; occasionally I also post original, often more personal, content as well, which may be found under the "personal" tag. Anything posted under "translations" is also original work and may broadly be taken as personal as well as I seldom tackle a work that does not speak to or for me in some way.