Alone
in my robe
The rain sprinkles its thoughts
ever so gently around me
Purest of words
lay scattered at my feet.
Thought in flight
above me
The silence I covet
at times...convinces me
truth lay not far from home
Between the fonts
along with graphics
lay a swan song
destined to be as simple
as the man whom portrays
mannerisms and ghosts of
Knights or Kings
In the court of poets
and artisans
many are trampled
under foot and protest
of silent swarms
Winter gives birth to spring
the words still call me by name
as I look at the dye on my fingers
and walls that never spoke before.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem