No one told me of the long nights
or the solitary nature
of one in a crowd
the body ill conceived
clouds the vision
long enough to spread the pain
brings forth a sardonic smile
drawn to a mirror
stained by the witches' dark breath
Look to the rock
where the mountain stands alone
makes no obeisance demands no tribute
or mystique of the chestnut tree
whose shadows heal the spirit
for all who care to enter
in an amoral way
we do not judge
we cannot hurt
This is a lonely road
so are we all
you know me for what I am
not what I seem
and in that manner born to me
I hail the greater one
accept myself in a minor key
Rev.1994
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem