By Luke VanderPol
The animate corpses hunt for clemency
Down wintry streets so wearily,
a clattering vessel as empty
as a child granted his fantasy
Cast in resilient cloth, though naked
marching to a sound arrhythmic and fleeting
the ominous sound of their single heart beating
to call out their ubiquitous time
as madly as a solitary mind
and this jaded creation, poised
with it's own shiny gun
cocked to fluttering heart
will pass into void
as swiftly as it came
to surely beg for absolution.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem