It's late in our soul.
Everything is lost.
Everything is won.
We own everything
And nothing.
The twilight in our mouth.
Gone is the time
Of great hopes, great words.
It is the hour of the murmurs.
We still defend ourselves.
We paint the walls of the evening
To obliterate our shadows.
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From Aged Mirrors - trilogyofthemirrors.com
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem