The Church is in darkness.
Across the whole world
Stars that first look beautiful,
Are really just winking purveyors
Of a world on the move.
Along a rural backwater.
I see beautiful winter skies
Tinged with orange amber light
Of sunset.
Loss and grief of souls
And love gone.
Why is the Church
Never alive to human kind
Anymore?
The Church is in darkness,
Along dank and dismal
Retreated worlds.
Still the Church is in Darkness.
(Waiting impatient) ,
For the new awakening.
Promised every damn year,
Still no sign of him!
The telegraph pole
And poplar trees,
Sing a mournful malady
Of trouble
To be visited upon us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem