Slender beams of moonlight enter
this darkened chamber as I kneel,
always a slave, always lost,
frozen here,
waiting.
Angelic forms wrought in panes of glass loom as
dust dances in the air,
forming an image in my mind,
penetrating my darkened soul.
A reflection on humanity's face.
I raise my head, now kneeling before
this impassive fate
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem