Mutters of sounds bleed my room
Natures so beast behind the close of the door
Stopped the tracks of streets so wild
Bright as and blue clouds brighten our scent.
Washes of light grained high streams
Dipped in lotus of the britta
Brought to cyfin the blood of the beast
Later sit in eager wait
Nest of conscious. Rest my soul
Bitter sweet the endings of such hold
Sought out of plight with pitty
The rivers run long the end of days
Rest on end of lessons learn
The end is near to thy who concern
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem