Evening moonlighted glows cascade,
Never a flicker from the dainty candle which,
On a rickety wooden table,
Looks on with it’s swaying flame.
Arranged by it’s side
Stood a graceful dame all dressed in silks,
Kindly running her soft hands along her
Length, caressing her charming curves,
And by the lens of a cracked mirror, she
Wove her imaginations about her reflection.
Time passed with it’s slow, ambling prance,
Stuck in an endless circle, spiralling
Onwards.
Hour by hour, the deep and
Gloomy tones of a nearby bell
Tolling in the midnight.
Naught but the tender breeze
Ever caught the delicate
Curtains and over and
Over they fluttered frantically as the
Nearly invisible fingers of wind
Nestled by them, quietly
Involved in their magnetic dance.
Night was tightly folded
About the skies now, and the
Scolding sun seemed nothing more than an
Enigmatic dream, forgotten in sleep.
In the dim candle’s
Radiance, she was twirling about,
Cared for by her smooth figure which
Lent to easily into the background.
Evening’s embrace swathed her and she
Gazed from the windowpane into the
Nefarious black outside,
Afraid of
Nothing.
Away into the dark, she cast her
Numbed-by-winter arms outwards and
Every dropp of cindered rain wept for
Her as she faded into that cracked, dusty,
Weary mirror where she dwells forever.
End.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem