dont speak to me of
what love is, and love isnt...
when the price of loving you
is scorched into my bones,
leaving my flesh smoldering
neath the tree where the owl waits...
maybe these are the sins Jesus didnt die for!
wars break out, clouds are shattered,
asleep in the hollow that was your body.
one eye blackened,
the other left to stare madly,
at the moon contained in a dropp of rain,
caught in the spider's web!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem