On this green clouded peak
The sneering city is silenced.
It is slowed and slumbers forth
like a sobering drunk.
Chess pieces scuttle, lifeless
and carried by chance.
Peering down or maybe looking
out, a salt splattered beacon burns,
Not with a flame, but with the
secrets of another age.
Green fragile dancing blades
cirlce its base- wind worshipers.
A body battles as it pushes itself
towards the edge of landscapes
life, dangling a little of itself over
and into the consuming clouds.
A split second of frozen flight,
before reason reels all back in.
I only fall in my dreams.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem