GREAT SOUL IN MY COUNTRY 1 © 2007
I am the echo of the burned past,
On the cold walls of this place,
Where each sigh is preserved,
Like a relic of sorrow.
The flames that consume,
Not just the flesh, but the spirit,
Turn into ashes the name,
That once was a cry, now a rite.
And in the silence of this museum,
Where life is memory and torment,
I am the shadow of what happened,
A reflection trapped in time.
The shroud that covers me,
Made of ashes and winter dust,
Is the mantle of poor existence,
That bows to the eternal fate.
But it is in the memory that burns,
In the fire that never dies,
That I find the truth I kept,
Even when the body no longer roams.
In this space where hell and beauty meet,
I am a witness to what was and what will be,
A reflection, a story they use,
To remind that life is fleeting, but the spirit will persist.