Angels feathers drift down from the moon,
To brush my skin as with silken lips.
A thousand lovers kiss and caress,
A thousand strokes with a thousand whips.
In a wildreness of icy bliss,
Where I stare into the drifting clouds,
Dream of all the things that might have been,
As silence wraps me in satin shroud.
All is still; All is peace; All is silence.
Let me sleep.
All is well; All is calm; All is ended.
Let me rest.
All that was; All that will be; Ended.
Let me sleep, let me rest.
All I could... All I might... Transcended.
Let me sleep, let me rest, let me die.
I kneel now in silent tribute,
Upon a field of shimmering blood,
In my hand a flash of light,
A glitter; A glance; A gleam; A thud.
Watch now, as I lay me down to sleep,
Where crimson flood meets bright field of blood,
Beneath the eye that can never weep,
And feathers shed - if angels could.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem