The wind echoes a requiem that is composed by life itself.
One note is a sigh that tumbles and falls in the late afternoon sunlight.
Laughter in a midnight cafe becomes a chorus.
In reykjavik,
the heartbeat of the sea is the composition itself.
Paint streams across a leaden sky;
an artist's canvas wrought in the simplicity of the abstract.
The soul unwraps the music it finds within itself,
and sees the poet emerge from a standing field of lava rocks;
Iceland;
my heart finds its reason to survive when sea and sun collide,
and tears fall like snow pellets across my canvas.
Life is but a requiem for the soul,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Some really powerful lines in this one. Again, a lovely piece of writing - I'm really enjoying reading your work.