Shifting, eroded
particles and fragments
of enamoured staves
remain of substance
suffering of protest
once laid in flesh…
And once whispering
vitality became contradictory
withered of disillusion, and
are now, the scraps of joy…
Faintly placed upon that ashen
vessel of one protruding elegance
an immortality lusting for remnants
and treasures, of wishful erosion
imagining the gaunt and wasted
spirit, of a love gone bad…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem