ᛏᚹᛟ ᚺᚨᚾᛞᛋ ᚱᛖᚨᚲᚺ ᛟᚢᛏ ᛁᚾ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛏᚢᛗᚢᛚᛏ,
ᛏᛖᛗᛈᛏᛁᚾᚷ, ᛒᛖᚲᚲᛟᚾᛁᚾᚷ, ᛗᚨᚷᚾᛖᛏᛁᚲ.
ᛁ ᚲᚾᛖᚹ ᚾᛟ ᛞᛁᚠᚠᛖᚱᛖᚾᛏ ᛚᛁᚠᛖ ᛁᚾ ᛏᚺᛖ ᚹᛟᛁᛞ
ᚨ ᛞᚱᛁᚠᛏᛁᚾᚷ ᛋᛈᛖᚲ ᛟᚠ ᛞᚢᛋᛏ, ᚨᚾ ᚨᛋᚲᛖᛏᛁᚲ.
ᛏᛖᛗᛈᛏᛁᚾᚷ, ᛒᛖᚲᚲᛟᚾᛁᚾᚷ, ᛗᚨᚷᚾᛖᛏᛁᚲ.
ᛁ ᚲᚾᛖᚹ ᚾᛟ ᛞᛁᚠᚠᛖᚱᛖᚾᛏ ᛚᛁᚠᛖ ᛁᚾ ᛏᚺᛖ ᚹᛟᛁᛞ
ᚨ ᛞᚱᛁᚠᛏᛁᚾᚷ ᛋᛈᛖᚲ ᛟᚠ ᛞᚢᛋᛏ, ᚨᚾ ᚨᛋᚲᛖᛏᛁᚲ.
ᛁᛏ ᛏᛟᚢᚲᚺᛖᛞ ᛗᛖ ᚨᚾᛞ ᛁ ᚹᚨᛋ ᚷᛁᚹᛖᚾ ᚠᛟᚱᛗ
ᚲᛚᛖᚨᚾ ᛚᛁᚾᛖᛋ ᚨᚾᛞ ᛞᛖᚠᛁᚾᛁᛏᛖ ᛋᚺᚨᛈᛖᛋ
ᚨᛚᛟᚾᚷ ᚹᛁᛏᚺ ᛏᚺᛁᛋ ᚲᚨᛗᛖ ᛏᚺᛖ ᚱᛁᚠᛏ ᛁᚾᛋᛁᛞᛖ
ᚠᚱᛟᛗ ᚹᚺᛁᚲᚺ ᚨᛚᛚ ᛞᛖᛋᛁᚱᛖ ᚷᚨᛈᛖᛋ.
ᛗᛃ ᚾᛖᚹ ᛚᛁᚠᛖ ᚹᚨᛋ ᚲᛟᚾᚠᛁᚾᛖᛞ ᛏᛟ ᚨ ᚠᚨᚲᛖ,
ᛁᛏ ᛞᛁᛞ ᚾᛟᛏ ᚷᛁᚹᛖ ᛗᛖ ᚨᚾᛟᛏᚺᛖᚱ ᚲᚺᛟᛁᚲᛖ.
ᛚᛟᚲᚲᛖᛞ ᛁᚾ ᛚᛟᚾᚷᛁᚾᚷ'ᛋ ᚲᛟᛚᛞ ᛖᛗᛒᚱᚨᚲᛖ
ᛁ ᚨᛗ ᚲᛟᛗᛈᛖᛚᛚᛖᛞ ᛏᛟ ᚠᛁᚾᛞ ᚨ ᚹᛟᛁᚲᛖ.
Two hands reach out in the tumult,
tempting, beckoning, magnetic.
I knew no different life in the void
a drifting spec of dust, an ascetic.
It touched me and I was given form
clean lines and definite shapes
Along with this came the rift inside
from which all desire gapes.
My new life was confined to a face,
it did not give me another choice.
locked in longing's cold embrace
I am compelled to find a voice.
