Swerving pages, pages of forgotten memories
entwined in the behinds,
Memories hacked into a slacking haggard cursed
tree,
Memories flown and blown by the gentle stormy
winds, Memories nostalgia, memories dis-remembered
memories of thee.
Over a barrel I sit in the view of weeping skies,
Her tears gracing my cheeks, her fears sneaking and
slinking in my cold blood
Like a bat out of hell the winds thunder my very heart to my defiled eyes,
Who will save me from this cursed blessing
foundered on me in this mud?
With bated breath I will wait,
Batten down the hatches in the ashes of my curser,
the begetter of this bedevils. Cursed am I that my eyes can only see the beams in
another’s fate,
Though I am a beggar belief I am the better devil.
Lain In the cradle of the saddle that I paddled,
I sail close to the breeze the gods would handle.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem