Of flesh and bone,
but of a throne,
my words are like fine wine, that's written in stone,
we share a bond, that's tall as your tale,
I see the temptations, but under the veil,
My poisonous taste, to your lips would swell,
an in the end my words will sell,
I am the one, you see in your dreams,
to the precious and in secret your berries and creams,
is your word the truth or is that what it seems,
I am the vice,
to squeeze your temptations and put you on ice,
I know you take me lightly, from yet afar
a masked phantom, burnt by a star,
your words belong, but in a jar,
I take you my friend for what you are.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The telling is not aways in the tale. The telling is not if you prove it. The telling are words as our music....iip