We greet rain with dour eyes,
down turned mouth, sighs....
wishing blue, sun, clear skies.
Grumble dragon's flame,
succeeding in creating mist.
Who walks through the mist?
That dark figure, silent, slow....
That being of our own creation.
Demon-winged, or angel-robed,
laughing at enchanted clouds,
leaving no prints to identify....
perhaps our deepest fear, realized....
It is us.
very deep... in a way, it is quite true.. nice write!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
very good write leave one to wonder 10