The crashing of blues,
a hue in the midst.
A baby's bewilderment,
the steal from a kiss.
A darkness of heathens,
the sky from beyond.
A tyrant of colors,
as time marches on.
For the crashing of blues,
is what I can hear.
The sounds from a people,
on a deaf dancing ear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Chevelle Amazing poetic style here, well done