THE drooping canvas pounded
lusily in the wind.
A shaft of sun light, choked, and
strangled your wreckage, leaving
you stupid, and a little afraid.
THUNDER yells, as you try to run,
better listen up, and turn back around.
YOU mutter and laugh as you fall
to the ground, is this your life, or
a dream from the past.
THE drooping cavas................
lost at sea! It would be better a dream and not one of those re-occuring ones! 8 from confused easily Tai
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
YOU ARE OF DARKSIDE FAVOR, DAVID...THE MYSTIQUE SURROUNDING YOUR WORK IS STAGGERING..''''''''''''''FRANK