a midnight gale brought its howling despair,
a force matched only by his ebony eyes,
a face so still, so void of life,
at the midnight hour their eyes locked.
in his darkness he was beckoning a match,
no smile, no frown
a victory smirk across his flat cheek
his eys bloodshot from the fruits of his nocturnal wind.
her delusional mind an easy target,
as his eyes scoured the heavenly choir
one by one his eyes did devour,
with a crazed drunkeness in his victory.
the pit of her stomach wrenched
when the midnight delusion was done
there was only a cruel silence,
in his quick vanishing.
alone she stood the sole survivor,
for her to remember is victory's innocence,
for her to forget is humane.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem