a living hell beckons
on the cold mountainside
frozen dreams, paused images
Picket fence and cold lifeless leaves
a faceless lacuna
a mirage that foliates
Tiresome weary for crushed souls hapless
are there moments within the grandiose
Guard those desert and untenable lands
as we complain the flimsy wine and music we miss
they have a reason to live with happiness amiss
Cold painful climbing pines and creepers
Miss those kid chuckles and tenderness
the coldness of the metal
fusing the hate and rage within
weariness of a hardened auburn soul
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem