The cold closes in around me
So I can’t breathe
I’m frightened by what I see
The statues seem to move
The impressions given to be alive
While a violin plays the darkest and most romantic song
I’ve ever heard
Cobwebbed curtains hide something rare
A portrait, dusted with time and neglect
Eyes shine out, bright, alive, wondering
Eyes that remind me of something
Long forgotten
Eyes that weep roses with thorn pricked tears
Spidery shadows on the wall
Hiding magic in the West Wing
Images rush past like memories
A prince
Astride a horse
Hunting wolves
The forest rushes past
What splendour!
How my heart lifts with joy
And wild anticipation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem