Beneath the setting sun
painted in warmth of kings, lust blurs the lines.
With glinting eyes you search
for that worth a thousand souls
The need grows inside, steadily building.
Trust turns to unease.
Love turns to hate.
Surrounded by empty grandeur
all else ceases to exist.
The world around spins down, down, down
Into the depths of greed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem