she told
little stories
of death
and the moon was full
hung in the sky like
forever was real
and the force of her words was
enough to devour
any hope of ever
becoming born
in this mist we walk
hand in hand
my eyes much darker than
swords that pierce through the heart
arrows that land
still the winter looms
weight like a lead balloon
torn like a barren womb
cold like a tomb
here is where we wait
a limbo of solice state
carried by winds of fate
born in a cloud
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem