I flittered like a frozen butterfly in a silver artic haze.
My wings wilting erroneously from a chill since unbridled.
I waited in my wonderland of crystal blue ice.
But my freedom wass contingent upon surrealistic designs.
A Martyr in my mind ceases her egocentric complaining.
I have floated on a morally inept Western Wind.
But flames from a lust so potent seared me into unbridled action.
I leapt with the joy of supplication and the artic relased its prize.
I find this to be creative but somewhat confusing at the end. GW62
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I am left to ponder how morally forceful an Eastern wind would find you... I love the idea of an Artic Cage.. I can see it swaying now from polar magnetic forces... helped along hmm hmmm by what was coupled inside..