Clouds of apprehension and
oppression blot out the sun.
The world is made a colder place
by her absence as scattered beams
of light freckle the ground.
Reaching out my hand, I
hold three ounces of sunlight
wrestling through the cracks
it dies trying to fight.
The clouds that I see,
Between me and the sun
tell me the secrets of darkness
have only begun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
an outasight title. take care.