I have wounded mine own heart,
Yet naught but blood it yields.
Shall I forever dwell apart,
In failure's barren fields?
Must this scar, so crimson-red,
Proclaim me weak and frail?
Or doth my spirit rise instead,
And let my torment sail?
Shalt thou remain a failure evermore?
Or rise, and claim the strength thou hadst before?
Mar 16, 2025
Mar 16, 2025 at 4:45 PM UTC
I have wounded mine own heart,
Yet naught but blood it yields.
Shall I forever dwell apart,
In failure's barren fields?
Must this scar, so crimson-red,
Proclaim me weak and frail?
Or doth my spirit rise instead,
And let my torment sail?
Shalt thou remain a failure evermore?
Or rise, and claim the strength thou hadst before?
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