Gorgeous tragedy in sceptered pall comes sweeping by,
May my midnight lamp be seen in some lonely tower?
A fragrance of dreams slumbering under the soil,
The wind whinnies like a horse, yet keeps on riding.
Night sliding into laggard satin slippers forthcoming
Crafting dlatory innuendo's and nuances to paper
Laggard banancity of existence creeping inwardly
While the impervious enlightenment languishes
Measuring depths with a stick of fondness, I pen.
Sensations of auspicious fragmentary success,
Lost within manifold dreams, and a world half asleep.
No matter the tears poured, no flower bloomed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem