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gothic poetry

havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
assim perdido
quando liberdade de sua altura da montanha
nós não éramos muitos
para eu era um conselheiro gaunt, grave
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
trançado e tecido
babylon -- onde eu vou sonhar
macia weeping
aqueles no superior dizem que o conhecem, terra -- sĂŁo liars
eu nĂŁo posso dizĂŞ-lo agora
cai aqui nenhuma luz
como ela

 



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