As the drops of ink hit the paper, life begins to form,
The white starts to over lap with thick layers of black ink,
As the lines take form some thing new is shown,
A being that is craving to be defined,
The ink needs to darken in the lines,
What starts looking like a an angle covered in gleaming armor,
A avenger, the sword of god in the act,
A nail from the cross from which Jesus Christ perched, forever Attached,
The form starts to change into a thick angry hulk of rage,
A blistering force of hate,
A symbol of death with a laugh that defines crows halo caw,
With eyes burning a violent yellow in the dark,
A demon ones an angle fallen from the grace of god,
Only to hit the thick brimstone floor where Hades calls home,
The ink in the pen runs out and reality sets in,
Just as the end of the ink flows from the tip of the pen,
My vision meets a unsettling end, but all that I described Is but a, Bunch of scribbles on paper in a note pad that is only one of many,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem