Eyes that burn unending rage; engaging yet repugnant, hollowed eyes that i espy which flood me with discontent.
The twisted green and mottled brown of the iris pool, a lazy current dragging all into oblivion; shadow black with mirror shine and island all alone, An emptiness that oozes saline poison.
The hooded frames that never close, unblinking devils pink; Hooks of black a lash that bends, flexed to strike which never cracks.
Voices float with careless ease, echoes of a past that may not or might have been. Clear for all that care to see, these contenders for conscious all there save long drowned self.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very well penned piece of quality poetry, such a relief from having read a whole catalogue of sub-standard work. Very strong and meaningful piece of work! Neil M.