i stayed my pen for sorrow;
for a pain without a cause,
a stain that seeped - indelible
onto my heart of gauze.
a treason wrought so thorough
as to nullify the past,
by reason of insanity.
her doom was set at last!
begotten of the terror
her own tortured thoughts create,
she sought to barter truth for lies,
to justify her hate.
a hatred for the mirror,
for her image in the glass.
as nightmares she alone could see
remained when night had passed.
i stayed my pen to spare her
and pehaps to soothe the wound
that loving her had left to me;
my own peculiar doom.
but i'd suffered fiercer arrows
and had bested better foes.
my pen and mine own madness were
sufficient to the blows.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem