Midnight memories
Bach and Chopin
Of darker nights
Left only hoping
God's hand would subdue me soon
Spread my wings; fly to the moon
Of darker days
With no regrets
Hoping only that
I could forget
Blood red spiral
Down to demons
Trapped in my closet
Begging to feed them
Deepest feeling of emptiness
Oh how I wish I could forget
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
interesting to witness the darkness of midnight of Bach and Chopin. Is it possible that both the music of Bach and Chopin lacks its own intrinsic quality, and, therefore, is empty, inviting a demon of passion?