They appear in various forms above all towers, consistent signatures of a day's expression.
While walking I see a darker light fall and the foglike legions crawl across the skies dominion.
Not always does this bold ocean of air shine it's bright blue eye in favor of the sun. Rain, wind,
cold with a fierce disposition not at peace it's postion wags that elemental
gun.Clouds of color some pain and fire, happiness and madness, a
strange and beautiful cover. They stand and float with it's presence
over lands, mountains, seas, bridges, heavier are the wicked feathers.
The gray-black tide fades and rolls back until the smell and sting is
back again. Many hours in a season we see it's face and hear it's
voice chill in the souls of men.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem