Darkness creeps to touch our day.
Is it mindful what we pray?
Morbid is a lonely place.
Morbid finds a watchful place.
But when our creation held god Frey,
In sight was found a warm, familiar face.
It was touched by a spell of passion,
We could once taste joy's ration.
It was tethered in our arms to rise on
Over a steel horizon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your poetry is lovely!