Dirge

Vladyslav Nazarchuk

This poem can also be sung as a song: click here for its melody.

Upon a tree, there sits a bird:
Its feathers free, its wings unfurled.
The bird doth perch atop its throne
That’s grown from dust and human bone.

The sky above glows ghastly thin—
Forgive, my God, I’ve wandered in.
The angels cast averting gaze
Upon this vast plane of disgrace.

My feet have sunk in sorrows deep
Of sinners faced with endless weep.
They cry and cry unto the earth,
But they will not regain their mirth.

This is the place that we call Hell:
Where fire burns, and all’s not well;
Where light glows dim, and darkness grows
While we lie dead, but feel our woes.

Amen.