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autumn poem

j'ai hérité le désert parce que mon âme est assoiffée
j'aime les vieilles configurations melodious
c'est l'arsenal
souffleur de verre de temps
une lueur d'or dans le gloom et le gris
il raconte de bonnes vieilles périodes
dernier minuit
dans les halls du sommeil vous avez erré près
je fais ma monture, mais personne ne sait
se déclenchant vers le haut, tombant vers le bas
complètement des larmes
je l'aime
le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent

 



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