The constant whirr
Of the wings of bats
And cries and
Screams
Uttered at will
I
with every cry and
scream
arise me
in to the chill of fear
with every scream and
cry and near whirr
of wings
You, my Monsignor,
you
should not ever underrate
what Age does
till mitigated by superior
human intelligence:
till then
submit we to its havoc
uncontrolled
all that we build
with smile impish on
face
pleasure it takes
demolishing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem