I descended immobile, as if in jest,
While breaths did spontaneously freeze,
Contests o’ strength ‘mongst muscles at rest,
I feel a log midst the fire’s seize.
Astonished variables to the constance
Of my unsteady self-control
For falling was my true brilliance,
Amidst the ruins, lacking a role,
Without a purpose, a star, a shore,
Millions of rafts await my tread
And only thou dost hold me oar,
The wind slaps my face instead
But sense hath no place in rancor
And hatred might find its rightful fame
But if in hatred we must anchor,
Hate me till love is its name.

Marco Delrio

I Descended Immobile

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