Tempers flaring, bedlam to behold
Voices rumbling in a black hole
Blood, guts gore the smell of wet pennies
Machine chanting a midnight melody
Lights flickering, dancing around joyfully
Dead silence, Dead calm, just dead
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A haunting poem, Marge. Keep writing, it will help keep the madness at bay. Your job must be mentally taxing