Thunder isn't present.
Lightning doesn't strike.
The flood after a heart breaks
Is what this storm is like.
Twilight claims the daytime.
God has got the blues
For once again I'm late again
In paying my past dues.
The color of the living
Has blackened without night.
Drowning are the daffodils
Without the sun's sweet light.
A dilapidated canine
With fur like scaly skin
Licks with his pink failing tongue
God's tears. He drinks them in.
This puppy is a martyr.
He believes he will be saved,
But sadly or maybe gladly
Under the sun he will be paved.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem