Still lying in bed,
Late morning,
And through the curtains in my room,
The color of air is burning amber.
The very thought,
Lingering in my mind,
But pausing at my lips.
I am haunted by ten thousand souls,
But one lingers.
A boy,
Blond and built
He looks into me through blackened eyes
And shouts his hatred to the wind
Appearing in every dream,
Every nightmare.
He loved me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Dark poem but i love it. It is very descriptive and it reminds me of a lot of things. You have a gift...keep writing!