The wisps of the rainbow
streak through the sky:
The soaring spectrum of the tears
in all its vibrant glory.
Shades: Tints: Lengths: Depths
of redemption
diving onto the land
into the arms of those
who cry for it.
For it is receptive of the tears of men.
Together, the tide hearkens to the beacon
to fill the fallen
with a submersion
of rushing glory!
And in its descent, building charge,
stranding streaks of silver shoot
deep into the realm
piercing the souls
of the worthy:
Throwing them to their knees...
Engulfed with the life: The surge.
Sobbing joy. Laughing praise.
Raising their heads to the sun:
The mighty
city of emeralds
from which the path
of the soaring spectrum
begins.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem