The hand which holds her heart,
Untrembling.
He possesses all but a sliver.
The piece that cuts,
A shining dagger
Slicing into her wounds.
To release the sliver
Is to give her life.
It is her Sanity.
Her reality in this fairytale.
Imprisoned in the sliver,
Hidden behind fingers,
Desperately grasping,
Desperately clinging,
Is her final defense.
Her last recollection.
The sliver will make
Her truly his.
In his hands,
Untrembling,
He holds the intricate puzzle.
In hers,
Shaking and bleeding,
The final piece.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
the silver killing touch...nice write...imaginative...10