Shadows from the trees narrate a story
With haste and swishes from a rusty sword
Limping flesh enters the scene, silence intrudes
The moon hesitates but lays nakedly anyway
Upon the titanic crimson get-away
Before it completely fades into gloaming
Here, right now, the interest upon the owls
And eagerness from the singing crickets
Sing a song I've once hummed before
Excitement wears me like a used glove
I welcome the existence of the far seas
Their deepest dreams, cleverest of rushes
Whisper to me… your sudden deaths
And clamoring nightmares of melting fears,
The world is about to disappear…
Let my confused hands and pulse hold on,
Your warmth might kill me but
I might just ask you to do it again
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem