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gothic poetry

abaixo do helm do guerreiro
mas alas, sonhos justos
de nossos lugares escondidos
aflija-se nĂŁo para o invisĂ­vel
travails da terra
a filha, arte do thou vem morrer
como ele de quem espĂ­rito na chama do meio-dia
material da lua
alguns dias mais ventosos
eu despise meus amigos mais do que vocĂŞ
eu vim no deserto porque minha alma Ă© athirst
pouca porta foi alcançada no último

 



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