With the wings of the wind
I am gone,
You, merciless pursuer, on my heels,
You, merciful heart stealer, calling me back.
Was it You who wounded me?
Though perhaps, if it was,
I would rather fall under your blows
than live forever in the empty apathy of my solitary heart.
I would rather fall upon your double-edged sword
and be redeemed,
than live forever in the hell I create for myself.
And I wonder, as dawn comes,
how grace found me without my knowing,
how love blossomed from scars that I inflicted, not you,
how the holy one became the sacrifice,
and how, how did this rescue come for me?