After the nights of the longest of knives
come days when the scissors are sharp
for those in denial of great afterlives
where angels are playing the harp.
The skeptics have no consolation when bleeding
while knights of the knives feel infliction
of scissors, with hope for the future receding
when facts are outfabled by fiction.
5/8/06
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i like it a lot. the first two lines really draw you in. -Lydia