Stumbling eyeless
On the raging moor
Lost, a tragic zombie—
I never realised how old you are.
How fragile.
This storm was born in my heart,
This tempest in my soul.
Where are the eyes that
Shone on my first gasp?
I would give my broken heart
To give you those old, tired orbs—
But I think you see better in the dark.
Take my love;
The night is cold
And you are colder than I—
Though I think you totter
On Hell’s fiery brink.
Give me your hand.
I will not recall the days
You guarded my first, faltering steps.
I will lead you now.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful, I loved it! :)