My eyes are filled with tears.
My vision is blurred; I cannot see -
And yet with bitter tears and smears,
I still see - plainly see - life's illusory.
Something I sometimes see -
Flashes of fire; flickering lights of agony,
Dreadful marches with mournful melodies,
It conjures up a curious mix of painful memories.
But amidst the prattle and noise.
I seem to hear a tender voice,
A whisper that ends a dreary, weary wait,
Outside of heaven's grace and gate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem