There is a place, a plain where oft
I’ll linger. And the darkness here breathes so loud,
It melts the stars themselves, who slide
Down the indigo canvas.
And slip beneath the horizon, leaving lipstick kisses of light, that I still pray on every night
And when the sun rises, and sees the scene
He gives a knowing smile, and burns all the brighter
Turns the residues to ashy hues
And whispers of futures ever lighter
Before he too farewell bids and sinks
Bittersweet watchmen whom oft would slink
And I draw the black blanket up to my shivered cheek, and warm it with my tears
Trying to last another night
And knowing I won’t
And I wait for Mother Moon’s Scythe
Thinking my sacrifice was necessary
And knowing it wasn’t
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem