When the Night Wind blows
Outside this window,
It is like the sound
Of the Angel of Darkness.
When the rain falls in sheets
Across these rooftops,
It is like the sound
Of the Angel of Destruction.
When I open the door at midnight
Before the gathering storm,
Instead of the modern urban landscape
I hear the marching of the
10,000 Demonic Hordes,
Silence stalks these floors
(Sometimes for weeks)
When love has fled this dwelling
It is like the sound
Of the Angel of Death.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
no love means death, good one. I invite you to read my poems and comment.