Crimson red, liquid
pain beyond imagination
a hard bed upon which i lay
sirens blaring, people yelling beyond sight
never i thought would i die
alone in the world that does not pity a cry
so close to a new life i was
the ring in my pocket stinging slightly
the memories held tightly
as all else slipped
my life now wasted
my time done
my last waking thought
not a memory
nor time of fame
but a sight above the wispy clouds, beyond
above the looming crimson monster of metal before me
my last waking thought behold
the Parisian tower unfolded
As my fingers finally closed cold.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
so close to a new life, good one, thanks.