Like the mad fleeing padded cells,
each alone no place to go.
Eyes so wide they touch the brow,
white as oyster shell…
As hell contrives in fires flame
and prayer is louder then our screams
Block and mortar turn to dust
and chock us when we breath.
Tattered resolution now
Mythopoeic dream…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem