Angels stun us when alive,
The wings of death and life collide.
This day bespoke wonders for the speakers,
They were men so solid and hearty.
This day is a night to remember, so black,
Yet what do places bring except the speech.
Angelic help is not present, like the corners of bodies,
They are men who watch and listen
Like the sun has gleamed in the day.
My apostles shall gain an evil life
If they shun from the angels,
But our books stay, just like God.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hmmm nice poetry...like that...