The Archer dropped his bow,
falling stars began to cry
in lumen misted teardrops,
while time and space yawned-
at the sight of such folly,
as they stared at the Archer
'till his bows arrow snapped,
spearing space, and science-
by a hole, black as death,
unlike the one they worship,
yet the morning came again,
despite the Seer's presage;
none hold the Light of Life
to make Breath from Ashes,
but the One who told the
Archer- to lay his bow down,
and take wings to the night
on to another space in Time.
[FjR]
MMXIX
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem