Whistlers warble the winds of Eden
The ideal where love rules the earth
I am the fallen bitter winter
Sullen trees with no leaves
Cold with frost, lost in strangeness
Swagger of pride amidst my pain
I hear the whistlers and fifes
Spring forests bright with color
Mountains clasping rainbows
I am jealous of your peace
Caverns inside deep with dark times
Everything seems to pass by tarnished
These happy placards so foreign
Swords of philistine art
Faulkner seems more real daily
Fading like a waning moon
No respite in the fleshy cisterns
William James wrestling with despair
Existential sorrow with arrows of angst
Mortality cries on the cross
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem