An ivory goddess
lies on a white-washed grave.
Her raven hair
sweeps the dead
and flatters them to blushing.
My dear dark goddess,
may I hear your song?
Even nightingales of glass
can not compete
with your perfect song.
A cry is heard
throughout the land
which rocks the nations
and crumbles skeletons
so that none but I am left standing
before her gem-like eyes.
'A glorious note' I murmur
until the pain is gone.
written 3.28.o5
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I think you have a way with phrases that makes it possible for you to write rhythm and rhyme. I cannot say this of all writers here. You just need to work on putting the phrases together so they have a common rhythm. I know it sounds difficult, but I believe you have the skill to do it. If you wish not to do so, I'll understand. GW62