ludite

“The broken branch hissed loudly, and then that

wind was converted into these words: "Briefly will

you be answered.

When the fierce soul departs from the body from

which it has uprooted itself, Minos sends it to the

seventh mouth.

It falls into the wood, and no place is assigned to

it, but where chance hurls it, there it sprouts like a

grain of spelt.

It grows into a shoot, then a woody plant; the

Harpies, feeding on its leaves, give it pain and a

window for the pain.

Like the others, we will come for our remains, but

not so that any may put them on again, for it is not

just to have what one has taken from oneself.

Here we will drag them, and through the sad

wood our corpses will hang, each on the thornbrush

of the soul that harmed it.”

Done