Throne of tragedy

[Poem by Jørn Hernik Sværen / Translation by Kristoffer Garm Rygg]

Hear!
From this day forth
are the heights of Horeb broken
and the sea of sulphur
- ice.

And blasphemy!
in heaven`s chambers:
Souls had fled their halls
and closed was the book of life.
And behold!
The great, white throne:
black
with sacred blood.

Our father -
Dead by his own hands:
an epitaph
worthy no king

And so ie everything
a nameless lie.
Who, my god,
am I?

Man knows me
as Lucifer, the serpent of old
The wretched hold my banner high.
Your gift
- all life! -
I grant the grave.
Yet I am not your death

Come carry forth the crown
to your once held throne.
Here is where my suffering should cease
- but alas: I am crowned
in grief unheard of!

In this lone monarchy
- without friend or foe -
I greet the morning sun
with strife and a song:
Please speak my name!
And leave me not
in the dust of death

I am weighed down
beneath the tragedy crown, -
nameless
and alone,
a fatherless son.