The marks of sorrow
Scar the faceless sky
Each cloud a wound
Each wound a sign
Of things no more
Quivering up in lines
Countenance shades
The Moon impaled
On blades
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A really fantastic poem, like it, a fantastic write. May i invite you to read my new poem called, Fire Of Hate.