Funereal
funereal goblets
full of poisons
glittering in the moon.
How glisten the colors
of the poisons
in the white stars' light
mirrors!
Night is so.
And my Sub-Conscious prompts
me to wake at night
walk through the streets
alone
hearing the echoes of my paces
pace after pace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem