Fallacy of the mind plays the
horn of its discord. Slave to my
own self, I am chained. Worry
is a whip that strikes me swift. A key
guard is laughing. I cry
and quickly I see his face carries
my own. Holder of said
whip is my other side. Inside
out, my body's mind is fighting
my love and passion. Cracks form dead
cities mourned and I bide
for silent pains to end. Longing
for this raking torch to
burn out. My hands are scathed in fires
bracing. I am bound. Wreathing gains no
ground from the metal shackles through
which I lock onyx ires.
The light breaks when the clouds forgo
somber waltzes on my life.
To love her fights my self, self of
deprecation. She holds keys that
open locks to my inner light,
giving breath and rebuff.
I take a rest for my heart she threads.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem