The misty rain becomes ice in the night
Ravage the air with cold cutting sword,
Walking on slithery steps in warbling flight,
Create the silent picture of a different world.
Angels in the night rest only for a short time,
Before hoping to find the human turning point,
With foe or friend, sublime images in the mind
Shifting the focus into another new continent.
A lone walker finds the night very pleasant
But the horror of fright demons will incite,
With images of fear to shroud every moment,
As pedestrian through the darkness of night.
In the night we are alone with vivid thoughts,
That strays far away into journeying fantasies,
They tell of pleasures and anxieties in our hearts
The sculptor of imperfections beyond realities.
The unseen truth in our being that we often taste,
Stands with hope and despair on pillows of emotions
Mystical birth of shadows appearing to escape
When the door closes we are left to make decisions.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem