Arraign darkness
those that speak
do not do
Arraign light, summon
somewhere, the gnome
sits immersed in phiilosophy,
And fools weep.
then laugh, murderous laughter.
They wait for final moments
on roof tops, and cataclysmic houses
as rot sets in. Their lives,
their philosophy.
Doing a catwalk
they sell souls.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem